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THE  DAYS  OF  AULD  LANG  SYNE 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2015 


https://archive.org/details/daysofauldlangsyOOmacl_0 


A  POSTER  AT  THE  KIRK  GATE, 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  John  Watson. 

Copyright,  1895,  1896, 
By  Dodd,  Mead  and  Company, 

All  rights  reserved. 


Slnfoerstts  Press: 

John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambridge,  U.S.A. 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF  MY  MOTHER 


\ 


PUBLISHERS1  NOTE 


The  illustrations  in  this  book  are  from  photo- 
graphs taken  in  Logiealmond  (Drumtochty)  by 
Mr.  Clifton  Johnson,  who  has  so  well  illustrated 
other  books  in  the  same  manner.  They  are  actual 
pictures  of  scenes  in  which  the  stories  are  laid,  and 
of  the  people  who  move  amid  these  scenes,  and 
who  are  the  original  types  from  which  the  char- 
acters are  drawn. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I.   A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY      ....  5 

II.    FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

1.  The  Country  Tyrant     .......  27 

2.  The  Endless  Choice   46 

3.  A  DlSPLENISHING  SALE   Gj 

4.  The  Appeal  to  C/ESAR   83 

5.  The  Replenishing  of  Burnbrae     .    .    .  ioi 

III.  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT   121 

IV.  DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 

1.  Drumsheugh's  Fireside   139 

2.  Drumsheugh's  Secret   156 

3.  Drumsheugh's  Reward   170 

V.    PAST  REDEMPTION   189 

VI.    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  215 

VII.  JAMIE 

1.  A  Nippy  Tongue   239 

2.  A  Cynic's  End   254 


xii  CONTENTS 
VIII.  A  SERVANT  LASS 

PAGE 

1.  HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT      ........  275 

2.  HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME   294 

IX.   MILTON'S  CONVERSION   317 

X.   OOR  LANG  HAME   339 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

A  Poster  at  the  Kirk  Gate  Frontispiece 

Drumtochty  in  the  Village   4 

In  the  Kirkyard   5 

A  Nail  here  and  a  Nail  there   9 

A  Farm  Lassie  showing  the  Kebbocks   13 

At  Muirtown  Market   17 

A  Cup  of  Tea  with  the  Factor   21 

Kildrummie   33 

The  Loft  in  the  Auld  Kirk   35 

The  Inn   39 

The  Auld  Tochty  Bridge   47 

The  Manse  of  the  Free  Kirk   50 

On  the  Way  Home   52 

A  Bridge  on  the  Road   53 

Woodhead  Farm   54 

The  Auld  Kirk   56 

The  Free  Kirk  Manse   59 

Jean  Waiting   65 

Hoeing  Turnips                                                           .  68 

Washing  Carts   73 

Cutting  up  Cheese   76 

Jeannie   84 

Jean  in  the  Garden  „   85 

In  Muirtown   89 

Drumtochty  —  The  Village   93 

The  Lodge   97 

The  Smiddy   105 


xiv  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A  Talk  on  the  Dyke   108 

Bringing  Hot  Water   H3 

A  Talk  in  the  Kitchen   129 

In  the  Kirkyard   132 

The  Auld  Kirk  Stove   135 

The  Kildrummie  Butcher   141 

Milk  for  the  Ploughmen   143 

Drumsheugh  and  the  Doctor  by  the  Fire   145 

Cuddling  for  Trout   147 

Sandie  drying  himself  in  a  Farmhouse   150 

The  Kildrummie  Train   159 

At  the  Stile   163 

Marget's  Old  Cottage  Home   ]  76 

In  the  Ruined  Kitchen   177 

Marget  in  Drumsheugh's  Room   179 

Leezbeth  laying  the  Tea   183 

The  Drumtochty  Post-Office   191 

Mrs.  Robb  reviews  the  Letters   193 

Kelpie's  Hole   195 

A  Hidie  Hole  in  the  Dyke  for  Letters   197 

Tramps   199 

Mrs.  MacFadyen  scouring  Blankets   207 

Ben  Hornish   209 

Reading  the  Home  Paper   216 

The  Tochty  below  the  Mill   217 

The  Tochty  below  the  Mill   218 

The  Descent  to  Tochty  Bridge   220 

Meg  went  to  the  Drawers   223 

Posty   229 

Bogleigh  Farm   231 

Glen  Urtach  *   233 

Posty  on  the  Dyke   234 

A  Ploughman   240 

Seeing  to  the  Hens   248 

The  Free  Kirk  and  Manse  from  the  Rear   252 

Jamie  took  off  his  Hat  and  brushed  the  Band     ....  253 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  xv 

PAGE 

Reading  to  Jamie  from  the  Bible   259 

A'  see  her  wavin'  her  Hand   265 

Children  at  the  Cottage  Door   268 

Working  in  the  Fields    277 

Mary  Robertson's  Cottage   278 

The  Wricht  making  a  Kist   281 

Kildrummie  Station   285 

Reading  Lily's  Letter   291 

In  the  Tochty  Woods   299 

On  the  Way  Home  from  the  Kirk   321 

A  Corner  of  the  Study  in  the  Manse     .    .    «.    .    .    .    .  323 

Milton  at  the  Window   331 

In  the  Auld  Kirk                                         .....  335 

In  the  Wood   342 

The  Crest  of  the  Old  Bridge   347 

The  Kildrummie  Bread  Cart   348 

Watching  from  the  Garden  Gate   349 

By  the  Fireside   352 

Chairlie  in  the  Kirkyard   356 

Tailpiece   358 


TRIUMPH   IN  DIPLOMACY 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


Farms  were  held  on  lease  in  Drumtochty,  and  accord- 
ing to  a  good  old  custom  descended  from  father  to 
son,  so  that  some  of  the  farmers'  forbears  had  been 
tenants  as  long  as  Lord  Kilspindie's  ancestors  had 
been  owners.  If  a  family  died  out,  then  a  successor 
from  foreign  parts  had  to  be  introduced,  and  it  was 
in  this  way  Milton  made  his  appearance  and  scan- 
dalised the  Glen  with  a  new  religion.  It  happened 
also  in  our  time  that  Gormack,  having  quarrelled 
with  the  factor  about  a  feeding  byre  he  wanted  built, 
flung  up  his  lease  in  a  huff,  and  it  was  taken  at  an 
enormous  increase  by  a  guileless  tradesman  from 
Muirtown,  who  had  made  his  money  by  selling 
"pigs"  (crockery-ware),  and  believed  that  agricul- 
ture came  by  inspiration.  Optimists  expected  that 
his  cash  might  last  for  two  years,  but  pessimists 
declared  their  belief  that  a  year  would  see  the  end 
of  the  "merchant's"  experiment,  and  Gormack 
watched  the  course  of  events  from  a  hired  house 
at  Kildrummie. 

Jamie  Soutar  used  to  give  him  "a  cry  "  on  his  way 
to  the  station,  and  brought  him  the  latest  news. 


4  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


"  It 's  maybe  juist  as  weel  that  ye  retired  frae 
business,  Gormack,  for  the  auld  fairm  's  that  spruced 
up  ye  wud  hardly  ken  it  wes  the  same  place. 

"The  merchant  's  put  ventilators  intae  the  feedin' 
byre,  and  he  's  speakin'  aboot  glass  windows  tae  keep 


DRUMTOCHTY  IN  THE  VILLAGE 


the  stots  frae  wearyin',  an'  as  for  inventions,  the 
place  is  fair  scatted  up  wi'  them.  There 's  ain 
that  took  me  awfu' ;  it 's  for  peelin'  the  neeps  tae 
mak  them  tasty  for  the  cattle  beasts. 

"Ye  hed  nae  method,  man,  and  a'  dinna  believe 
ye  hed  an  inspection  a'  the  years  ye  were  at  Gor- 
mack.  Noo,  the  merchant  is  up  at  half  eicht,  and 
gaes  ower  the  hale  steadin'  wi'  Robbie  Duff  at  his 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


heels,  him  'at  he's  got  for  idle  grieve,  an'  he  tries 
the  corners  wi'  his  handkerchief  tae  see  that  there  's 
nae  stoor  (dust). 

"It  wud  dae  ye  gude  tae  see  his  library;  the  laist 
day  I  saw  him  he  wes  readin'  a  book  on  '  Compara- 
tive Agriculture  '  afore  his  door,  and  he  explained 
hoo  they  grow  the 
maize  in  Sooth  Amer- 
iky ;  it  wes  verra  in- 
terestin' ;  a'  never  got 
as  muckle  information 
frae  ony  fairmer  in 
Drumtochty. " 

"  A'm  gled  ye  cam 
in,  Jamie,"  was  all 
Gormack  said,  "for  I 
wes  near  takin'  this 
hoose  on  a  three-year 
lease.  Ae  year  'ill 
be  eneuch  noo,  a'm 
thinkin'." 

IN  THE  KIRKYARD 

Within  eighteen 
months  of  his  removal  Gormack  was  again  in  pos- 
session at  the  old  rent,  and  with  a  rebate  for  the 
first  year  to  compensate  him  for  the  merchant's 
improvements. 

"  It  'ill  tak  the  feck  o*  twa  years,"  he  explained  in 
the  kirkyard,  "tae  bring  the  place  roond  an'  pit  the 
auld  face  on  it. 

"The  . byres  are  nae  better  than  a  pair  o'  fanners 
wi'  wind,  and  if  he  hesna  planted  the  laighfield  wi' 


6  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


berry  bushes;  an'  a've  seen  the  barley  fifty-five  pund 
wecht  in  that  very  field. 

"  It 's  a  doonricht  sin  tae  abuse  the  land  like  yon, 
but  it  'ill  be  a  lesson,  neeburs,  an'  a'm  no  expeckin' 
anither  pig  merchant  'ill  get  a  fairm  in  Drumtochty. " 

This  incident  raised  Gormack  into  a  historical 
personage,  and  invested  him  with  an  association  of 
humour  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  so  that  when  conver- 
sation languished  in  the  third  some  one  would  ask 
Gormack  "what  he  hed  dune  wi'  his  ventilators,"  or 
"hoo  the  berry  hairst  wes  shapin'  this  year." 

One  could  not  expect  a  comedy  of  this  kind  twice 
in  a  generation,  but  the  arranging  of  a  lease  was 
always  an  event  of  the  first  order  in  our  common- 
wealth, and  afforded  fine  play  for  every  resource  of 
diplomacy.  The  two  contracting  parties  were  the 
factor,  who  spent  his  days  in  defending  his  chief's 
property  from  the  predatory  instincts  of  enterprising 
farmers,  and  knew  every  move  of  the  game,  a  man 
of  shrewd  experience,  imperturbable  good  humour, 
and  many  wiles,  and  on  the  other  side,  a  farmer 
whose  wits  had  been  sharpened  by  the  Shorter  Cate- 
chism since  he  was  a  boy,  — with  the  Glen  as  judges. 
Farms  were  not  put  in  the  Advertiser  on  this  estate, 
and  thrown  open  to  the  public  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
sheba,  so  that  there  was  little  risk  of  the  tenant  los- 
ing his  home.  Neither  did  the  adjustment  of  rent 
give  serious  trouble,  as  the  fair  value  of  every  farm, 
down  to  the  bit  of  hill  above  the  arable  land  and 
the  strips  of  natural  grass  along  the  burns,  was 
known  to  a  pound.    There  were  skirmishes  over  the 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY  7 


rent,  of  course,  but  the  battle-ground  was  the  num- 
ber of  improvements  which  the  tenant  could  wring 
from  the  landlord  at  the  making  of  the  lease.  Had 
a  tenant  been  in  danger  of  eviction,  then  the  Glen 
had  risen  in  arms,  as  it  did  in  the  case  of  Burnbrae ; 
but  this  was  a  harmless  trial  of  strength  which  the 
Glen  watched  with  critical  impartiality.  The  game 
was  played  slowly  between  seedtime  and  harvest, 
and  each  move  was  reported  in  the  kirkyard.  Its 
value  was  appreciated  at  once,  and  although  there 
was  greater  satisfaction  when  a  neighbour  won,  yet 
any  successful  stroke  of  the  factor's  was  keenly 
enjoyed  —  the  beaten  party  himself  conceding  its 
cleverness.  When  the  factor  so  manipulated  the 
conditions  of  draining  Netherton's  meadow  land  that 
Netherton  had  to  pay  for  the  tiles,  the  kirkyard 
chuckled,  and  Netherton  admitted  next  market  that 
the  factor  "wes  a  lad  "  —  meaning  a  compliment  to 
his  sharpness,  for  all  things  were  fair  in  this  war  — 
and  when  Drumsheugh  involved  the  same  factor  in 
so  many  different  and  unconnected  promises  of  re- 
pairs that  it  was  found  cheaper  in  the  end  to  build 
him  a  new  steading,  the  fathers  had  no  bounds  to 
their  delight ;  and  Whinnie,  who  took  an  hour  longer 
than  any  other  man  to  get  a  proper  hold  of  anything, 
suddenly  slapped  his  leg  in  the  middle  of  the  sermon. 

No  genuine  Scotchman  ever  thought  the  less  of  a 
neighbour  because  he  could  drive  a  hard  bargain,  and 
any  sign  of  weakness  in  such  encounters  exposed  a 
man  to  special  contempt  in  our  community.  No 
mercy  was  shown  to  one  who  did  not  pay  the  last 


8  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


farthing  when  a  bargain  had  been  made,  but  there 
was  little  respect  for  the  man  who  did  not  secure  the 
same  farthing  when  the  bargain  was  being  made.  If 
a  Drumtochty  farmer  had  allowed  his  potatoes  to 
go  to  "  Piggie  "  Walker  at  that  simple-minded  mer- 
chant's first  offer,  instead  of  keeping  ''Piggie"  all 
day  and  screwing  him  up  ten  shillings  an  acre  every 
second  hour,  we  would  have  shaken  our  heads  over 
him  as  if  he  had  been  drinking,  and  the  well-known 
fact  that  Drumsheugh  had  worsted  dealers  from  far 
and  near  at  Muirtown  market  for  a  generation  was 
not  his  least  solid  claim  on  our  respect.  When  Mrs. 
Macfadyen  allowed  it  to  ooze  out  in  the  Kildrum- 
mie  train  that  she  had  obtained  a  penny  above  the 
market  price  for  her  butter,  she  received  a  tribute  of 
silent  admiration,  broken  only  by  an  emphatic  "  Sail  " 
from  Hillocks,  while  Drumsheugh  expressed  himself 
freely  on  the  way  up : 

"Elspeth's  an  able  wumman;  there's  no  a  slack 
bit  aboot  her.  She  wud  get  her  meat  frae  among 
ither  fouks'  feet." 

There  never  lived  a  more  modest  or  unassuming 
people,  but  the  horse  couper  that  tried  to  play  upon 
their  simplicity  did  not  boast  afterwards,  and  no 
one  was  known  to  grow  rich  on  his  dealings  with 
Drumtochty. 

This  genius  for  bargaining  was  of  course  seen  to 
most  advantage  in  the  affair  of  a  lease ;  and  a  year 
ahead,  long  before  lease  had  been  mentioned,  a 
"cannie"  man  like  Hillocks  would  be  preparing  for 
the  campaign.    Broken  panes  of  glass  in  the  stable 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


were  stuffed  with  straw  after  a  very  generous  fashion  ; 
cracks  in  a  byre  door  were  clouted  over  with  large 
pieces  of  white  wood ;  rickety  palings  were  ostenta- 
tiously supported;  and  the  interior  of  Hillocks's 
house  suggested  hard-working  and  cleanly  poverty 
struggling  to  cover  the  defects  of  a  hovel.  Neigh- 
bours dropping  in  dur- 
ing those  days  found 
Hillocks  wandering 
about  with  a  hammer, 
putting  in  a  nail  here 
and  a  nail  there,  or  on 
the  top  of  the  barn 
trying  to  make  it 
water-tight  before 
winter,  with  the  air  of 
one  stopping  leaks  in 
the  hope  of  keeping 
the  ship  afloat  till  she 
reaches  port.  But  he 
made  no  complaint, 
and  had  an  air  of 
forced  cheerfulness. 

"  Na,  na,  yir  no  interrupt  in'  me;  a'm  rael  gled 
tae  see  ye;  a'  wes  juist  doin'  what  a'  cud  tae  keep 
things  thegither. 

"An  auld  building  a  sair  trachle,  an'  yir  feared 
tae  meddle  wi't,  for  ye  micht  bring  it  doon  aboot 
yir  ears. 

"But  it's  no  reasonable  tae  expeck  it  tae  last  for 
ever:  it 's  dune  weel  and  served  its  time;  a'  mind  it 


A  NAIL  HERE  AND  A  X AIL  THERE 


io         A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


as  snod  a  steadin'  as  ye  wud  wish  tae  see,  when  a' 
wes  a  laddie  saxty  year  past. 

"Come  in  tae  the  hoose,  and  we  'ill  see  what  the 
gude  wife  hes  in  her  cupboard.  Come  what  may, 
the  'ill  aye  be  a  drop  for  a  freend  as  lang  as  a'm 
leevin. 

"Dinna  put  yir  hat  there,  for  the  plaister 's  been 
fallin',  an'  it  micht  white  it;  come  ower  here  frae 
the  window;  it 's  no  very  fast,  and  the  wind  comes 
in  at  the  holes.  Man,  it 's  a  pleesure  tae  see  ye,  an? 
here 's  yir  gude  health." 

When  Hillocks  went  abroad  to  kirk  or  market  he 
made  a  brave  endeavour  to  conceal  his  depression, 
but  it  was  less  than  successful. 

"  Yon  's  no  a  bad  show  o'  aits  ye  hae  in  the  wast 
park  the  year,  Hillocks;  a'm  thinkin'  the  'ill  buke 
weel. " 

"Their  hikes  are  the  best  o'  them,  Netherton; 
they  're  thin  on  the  grund  an'  sma'  in  the  head,  but 
a'  cudna  expeck  better,  for  the  land 's  fair  worn  oot; 
it  wes  a  gude  fairm  aince,  wi'  maybe  thirty  stacks 
in  the  yaird  every  hairst,  and  noo  a'm  no  lookin'  for 
mair  than  twenty  the  year." 

"Weel,  there  's  nae  mistak  aboot  yir  neeps,  at  ony 
rate ;  ye  canna  see  a  dreel  noo. " 

"That  wes  guano,  Netherton;  a'  hed  tae  dae 
something  tae  get  an  ootcome  wi'  ae  crap,  at  ony 
rate ;  we  maun  get  the  rent  some  road,  ye  ken,  and 
pay  oor  just  debts. " 

Hillocks  conveyed  the  impression  that  he  was 
gaining  a  bare  existence,  but  that  he  could  not  main- 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


tain  the  fight  for  more  than  a  year,  and  the  third 
became  thoughtful. 

"Div  ye  mind,  Netherton, "  inquired  Drumsheugh 
on  his  way  from  Muirtown  station  to  the  market, 
"hoo  mony  years  Hillocks's  'tack'  (lease)  hes  tae 
rin?" 

"  No  abune  twa  or  three  at  maist;  a'm  no  sure  if 
he  hes  as  muckle. " 

"It's  oot  Martinmas  a  year  as  sure  yir  stannin' 
there;  he  's  an  auld  farrant  (far-seeing)  lad, 
Hillocks." 

It  was  known  within  a  week  that  Hillocks  was 
setting  things  in  order  for  the  battle. 

The  shrewdest  people  have  some  weak  point,  and 
Drumtochty  was  subject  to  the  delusion  that  old 
Peter  Robertson,  the  land  steward,  had  an  immense 
back-stairs  influence  with  the  factor  and  his  lordship. 
No  one  could  affirm  that  Peter  had  ever  said  as  much, 
but  he  never  denied  it,  not  having  been  born  in  Drum- 
tochty in  vain.  He  had  a  habit  of  detaching  himself 
from  the  fathers  and  looking  in  an  abstracted  way 
over  the  wall  when  they  were  discussing  the  factor 
or  the  prospects  of  a  lease,  which  was  more  than 
words,  and  indeed  was  equal  to  a  small  annual  income. 

"  Ye  ken  mair  o'  this  than  ony  o'  us,  a'm  thinkin', 
Peter,  if  ye  cud  open  yir  mooth ;  they  say  naebody's 
word  gaes  farther  wi'  his  lordship." 

" There's  some  fouk  say  a  lot  of  havers,  Drum- 
sheugh, an  it 's  no  a'  true  ye  hear,"  and  after  a  pause 
Peter  would  purse  his  lips  and  nod.  "A'm  no  at 
leeberty  tae  speak,  an'  ye  maunna  press  me." 


12  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


When  he  disappeared  into  the  kirk  his  very  gait 
was  full  of  mystery,  and  the  fathers  seemed  to  see 
his  lordship  and  Peter  sitting  in  council  for  nights 
together. 

"Didna  a'  tell  ye,  neeburs  ?  "  said  Drumsheugh 
triumphantly;  "ye  'ill  no  gae  far  wrang  gin  ye  hae 
Peter  on  yir  side. " 

Hillocks  held  this  faith,  and  added  works  also,  for 
he  compassed  Peter  with  observances  all  the  critical 
year,  although  the  word  lease  never  passed  between 
them. 

"Ye  wud  be  the  better  o'  new  seed,  Peter,"  Hil- 
locks remarked  casually,  as  he  came  on  the  land 
steward  busy  in  his  potato  patch.  "  A've  some  kid- 
neys a'  dinna  ken  what  tae  dae  wi'  ;  a' 11  send  ye 
up  a  bag." 

"It's  rael  kind  o'  ye,  Hillocks,  but  ye  were  aye 
neeburly. " 

"Dinna  speak  o't;  that's  naething  atween  auld 
neeburs.  Man,  ye  micht  gie's  a  look  in  when  yir 
passin'  on  yir  trokes.  The  gude  wife  hes  some 
graund  eggs  for  setting." 

It  was  considered  a  happy  device  to  get  Peter  to 
the  spot,  and  Hillocks's  management  of  the  visit 
was  a  work  of  art. 

"  Maister  Robertson  wud  maybe  like  tae  see  thae 
kebbocks  (cheeses)  yir  sending  aff  tae  Muirtown, 
gude  wife,  afore  we  hae  oor  tea. 

"We  canna  get  intae  the  granary  the  richt  way, 
for  the  stair  is  no  chancy  noo,  an'  it  wudna  dae  tae 
hae  an  accident  wi'  his  lordship's  land  steward," 


FARM  LASSIE  SHOWING  THE  KEBBOCKS 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY  15 


and  Hillocks  exchanged  boxes  over  the  soothing 
words. 

"We  'ill  get  through  the  corn-room,  but  Losh 
sake,  tak  care  ye  dinna  trip  in  the  holes  o'  the  floor. 
A'  canna  mend  mair  at  it,  an'  it  's  scandalous  for 
wastin'  the  grain. 

"It 's  no  sae  bad  a  granary  if  we  hedna  tae  keep 
the  horses'  hay  in  it,  for  want  o'  a  richt  loft. 

"  Man,  there  's  times  in  winter  a'm  at  ma  wits'  end 
wi'  a'  the  cattle  in  aboot,  an'  naethin'  for  them  but 
an  open  reed  (court),  an'  the  wife  raging  for  a  calves' 
byre;  but  that 's  no  what  we  cam  here  for,  tae  haver 
aboot  the  steadin'." 

"Ay,  they  're  bonnie  kebbocks,  and  when  yir  crops 
fail,  ye  're  gled  eneuch  tae  get  a  pund  or  twa  oot  o' 
the  milk." 

And  if  his  Lordship  had  ever  dreamt  of  taking 
Peter's  evidence,  it  would  have  gone  to  show  that 
Hillocks's  steading  was  a  disgrace  to  the  property. 

If  any  one  could  inveigle  Lord  Kilspindie  himself 
to  visit  a  farm  within  sight  of  the  new  lease,  he  had 
some  reason  for  congratulation,  and  his  lordship, 
who  was  not  ignorant  of  such  devices,  used  to  avoid 
farms  at  such  times  with  carefulness.  But  he  was 
sometimes  off  his  guard,  and  when  Mrs.  Macfadyen 
met  him  by  accident  at  the  foot  of  her  garden  and 
invited  him  to  rest,  he  was  caught  by  the  lure  of  her 
conversation,  and  turned  aside  with  a  friend  to  hear 
again  the  story  of  Mr.  Pittendriegh's  goat. 

"  Well,  how  have  you  been,  Mrs.  Macfadyen,  as 
young  as  ever,  I  see,  eh  ?    And  how  many  new 


16  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


stories  have  you  got  for  me?  But,  bless  my  soul, 
what 's  this?  "  and  his  lordship  might  well  be  aston- 
ished at  the  sight. 

Upon  the  gravel  walk  outside  the  door,  Elspeth 
had  placed  in  a  row  all  her  kitchen  and  parlour 
chairs,  and  on  each  stood  a  big  dish  of  milk,  while  a 
varied  covering  for  this  open-air  dairy  had  been 
extemporised  out  of  Jeems's  Sabbath  umbrella,  a 
tea-tray,  a  copy  of  the  Advertiser,  and  a  picture  of 
the  battle  of  Waterloo  Elspeth  had  bought  from  a 
packman.  It  was  an  amazing  spectacle,  and  one  not 
lightty  to  be  forgotten. 

"  A'm  clean  ashamed  that  ye  sud  hae  seen  sic  an 
exhibition,  ma  lord,  and  gin  a'd  hed  time  it  wud  hae 
been  cleared  awa'. 

"Ye  see  oor  dairy's  that  sma'  and  close  that  a' 
daurna  keep  the  mulk  in  't  a'  the  het  days,  an'  sae 
a'  aye  gie  it  an  airin' ;  a'  wud  keep  it  in  anither 
place,  but  there's  barely  room  for  the  bairns  an' 
oorsels. " 

Then  Elspeth  apologised  for  speaking  about  house- 
hold affairs  to  his  lordship,  and  delighted  him  with 
all  the  gossip  of  the  district,  told  in  her  best  style, 
and  three  new  stories,  till  he  promised  to  build  her 
a  dairy  and  a  bed-room  for  Elsie,  to  repair  the  byres, 
and  renew  the  lease  at  the  old  terms. 

Elspeth  said  so  at  least  to  the  factor,  and  when  he 
inquired  concerning  the  truth  of  this  foolish  conces- 
sion, Kilspindie  laughed,  and  declared  that  if  he  had 
sat  longer  he  might  have  had  to  rebuild  the  whole 
place. 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY  17 


As  Hillocks  could  not  expect  any  help  from  per- 
sonal fascinations,  he  had  to  depend  on  his  own 
sagacity,  and  after  he  had  laboured  for  six  months 
creating  an  atmosphere,  operations  began  one  day  at 
Muirtown  market.  The  factor  and  he  happened  to 
meet  by  the  merest  accident,  and  laid  the  first 
parallels. 


AT  MUIRTOWN  MARKET 


"  Man,  Hillocks,  is  that  you?  I  hevna  seen  ye 
since  last  rent  time.  I  hear  ye  're  githering  the 
bawbees  thegither  as  usual;  ye  'ill  be  buying  a  farm 
o'  yir  own  soon." 

"  Nae  fear  o'  that,  Maister  Leslie;  it 's  a'  we  can 
dae  tae  get  a  livin' ;  we  're  juist  fechtin'  awa' ;  but  it 


1 8  A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


comes  harder  on  me  noo  that  a'm  gettin'  on  in 
years. " 

"Toots,  nonsense,  ye 're  makin'  a  hundred  clear 
off  that  farm  if  ye  mak  a  penny,"  and  then,  as  a  sud- 
den thought,  "  When  is  your  tack  out  ?  it  canna  hae 
lang  tae  run. " 

"Weel, "  said  Hillocks,  as  if  the  matter  had  quite 
escaped  him  also,  "a'  believe  ye  're  richt ;  it  dis  rin 
oot  this  verra  Martinmas." 

"Ye  'ill  need  tae  be  thinkin',  Hillocks,  what  rise 
ye  can  offer;  his  lordship  'ill  be  expeckin'  fifty  pund 
at  the  least." 

Hillocks  laughed  aloud,  as  if  the  factor  had  made 
a  successful  joke. 

"Ye  wull  hae  yir  fun,  Maister  Leslie,  but  ye  ken 
hoo  it  maun  gae  fine.  The  gude  wife  an'  me  were 
calculating  juist  by  chance,  this  verra  mornin',  and 
we  baith  settled  that  we  cudna  face  a  new  lease  com- 
fortable wi'  less  than  a  fifty  pund  reduction,  but  we 
micht  scrape  on  wi'  forty." 

"You  and  the  wife  'ill  hae  tae  revise  yir  calcu- 
lations then,  an'  a'll  see  ye  again  when  ye 're 
reasonable. " 

Three  weeks  later  there  was  another  accidental 
meeting,  when  the  factor  and  Hillocks  discussed  the 
price  of  fat  cattle  at  length,  and  then  drifted  into  the 
lease  question  before  parting. 

"Weel,  Hillocks,  what  aboot  that  rise?  will  ye 
manage  the  fifty,  or  must  we  let  ye  have  it  at 
forty?" 

"Dinna  speak  like  that,  for  it 's  no  jokin'  maitter 


A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY  19 


tae  me;  we  micht  dae  wi'  five-and-twenty  aff,  or  even 
twenty,  but  a'  dinna  believe  his  lordship  wud  like  to 
see  ain  o'  his  auldest  tenants  squeezed." 

"It  \s  no  likely  his  lordship  'ill  take  a  penny  off 
when  he  's  been  expecting  a  rise;  so  I  '11  just  need  to 
put  the  farm  in  the  Advertiser — '  the  present  tenant 
not  offering  ' ;  but  I  '11  wait  a  month  to  let  ye  think 
over  it." 

When  they  parted  both  knew  that  the  rent  would 
be  settled,  as  it  was  next  Friday,  on  the  old  terms. 

Opinion  in  the  kirkyard  was  divided  over  this  part 
of  the  bargain,  a  minority  speaking  of  it  as  a  drawn 
battle,  but  the  majority  deciding  that  Hillocks  had 
wrested  at  least  ten  pounds  from  the  factor,  which  on 
the  tack  of  nineteen  years  would  come  to  ^190. 
So  far  Hillocks  had  done  well,  but  the  serious  fight- 
ing was  still  to  come. 

One  June  day  Hillocks  sauntered  into  the  factor's 
office  and  spent  half  an  hour  in  explaining  the  con- 
dition of  the  turnip  "  breer  "  in  Drumtochty,  and 
then  reminded  the  factor  that  he  had  not  specified 
the  improvements  that  would  be  granted  with  the 
new  lease. 

"  Improvements, "  stormed  the  factor.  "  Ye  're  the 
most  barefaced  fellow  on  the  estate,  Hillocks;  with 
a  rent  like  that  ye  can  do  yir  own  repairs,"  roughly 
calculating  all  the  time  what  must  be  allowed. 

Hillocks  opened  his  pocket-book,  which  contained 
in  its  various  divisions  a  parcel  of  notes,  a  sample  of 
oats,  a  whip-lash,  a  bolus  for  a  horse,  and  a  packet  of 
garden  seeds,  and  finally  extricated  a  scrap  of  paper. 


20         A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


"Me  and  the  wife  juist  made  a  bit  note  o'  the 
necessaries  that  we  maun  hae,  and  we  're  sure  ye  're 
no  the  gentleman  tae  refuse  them. 

"  New  windows  tae  the  hoose,  an'  a  bit  place  for 
dishes,  and  maybe  a  twenty  pund  note  for  plastering 
and  painting;  that 's  naething. 

"  Next,  a  new  stable  an'  twa  new  byres,  as  weel  as 
covering  the  reed. " 

"Ye  may  as  well  say  a  new  steadin'  at  once  and 
save  time.  Man,  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  and 
havering  here  with  your  papers?  " 

"Weel,  if  ye  dinna  believe  me  ask  Peter  Rob- 
ertson, for  the  condeetion  o'  the  oot-houses  is  clean 
reediklus, " 

So  it  was  agreed  that  the  factor  should  drive  out  to 
see  for  himself,  and  the  kirkyard  felt  that  Hillocks 
was  distinctly  holding  his  own  although  no  one 
expected  him  to  get  the  reed  covered. 

Hillocks  received  the  great  man  with  obsequious 
courtesy,  and  the  gude  wife  gave  him  of  her  best, 
and  then  they  proceeded  to  business.  The  factor 
laughed  to  scorn  the  idea  that  Lord  Kilspindie  should 
do  anything  for  the  house,  but  took  the  bitterness 
out  of  the  refusal  by  a  well-timed  compliment  to 
Mrs.  Stirton's  skill,  and  declaring  she  could  set  up 
the  house  with  the  profits  of  one  summer's  butter. 
Hillocks  knew  better  than  try  to  impress  the  factor 
himself  by  holes  in  the  roof,  and  they  argued  greater 
matters,  with  the  result  that  the  stable  was  allowed 
and  the  byres  refused,  which  was  exactly  what  Hil- 
locks anticipated.    The  reed  roof  was  excluded  as 


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A  TRIUMPH  IN  DIPLOMACY 


preposterous  in  cost,  but  one  or  two  lighter  repairs 
were  given  as  a  consolation. 

Hillocks  considered  that  on  the  whole  he  was 
doing  well,  and  he  took  the  factor  round  the  farm 
in  fair  heart,  although  his  face  was  that  of  a  man 
robbed  and  spoiled. 

Hillocks  was  told  he  need  not  think  of  wire- 
fencing,  but  if  he  chose  to  put  up  new  palings  he 
might  have  the  fir  from  the  Kilspindie  woods,  and  if 
he  did  some  draining,  the  estate  would  pay  the  cost 
of  tiles.  When  Hillocks  brought  the  factor  back  to 
the  house  for  a  cup  of  tea  before  parting,  he  explained 
to  his  wife  that  he  was  afraid  they  would  have  to 
leave  in  November  —  the  hardness  of  the  factor  left 
no  alternative. 

Then  they  fought  the  battle  of  the  cattle  reed  up 
and  down,  in  and  out,  for  an  hour,  till  the  factor, 
who  knew  that  Hillocks  was  a  careful  and  honest 
tenant,  laid  down  his  ultimatum. 

" There's  not  been  a  tenant  in  my  time  so  well 
treated,  but  if  ye  see  the  draining  is  well  done,  I  '11 
let  you  have  the  reed." 

"A'  suppose,"  said  Hillocks,  "a'll  need  tae  fall 
in."  And  he  reported  his  achievement  to  the  kirk- 
yard  next  Sabbath  in  the  tone  of  one  who  could 
now  look  forward  to  nothing  but  a  life  of  grinding 
poverty. 


FOR   CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


I 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT 

No  man  was  better  liked  or  more  respected  than 
Burnbrae,  but  the  parish  was  not  able  to  take  more 
than  a  languid  interest  in  the  renewal  of  his  lease, 
because  it  was  understood  that  he  would  get  it  on 
his  own  terms. 

Drumsheugh  indeed  stated  the  situation  admirably 
one  Sabbath  in  the  kirkyard. 

"Whatever  is  a  fair  rent  atween  man  an'  man 
Burnbrae  'ill  offer,  and  what  he  canna  gie  is  no 
worth  hevin'  frae  anither  man. 

"As  for  buildings,  he  'ill  juist  tell  the  factor 
onything  that's  needfu',  an'  his  lordship  'ill  be 
content. 

"  Noo,  here's  Hillocks;  he'd  argle-bargle  wi'  the 
factor  for  a  summer,  an'  a'm  no  blamin'  him,  for  it 's 
a  fine  ploy  an'  rael  interestin'  tae  the  pairish,  but  it  's 
doonricht  wark  wi'  Burnbrae. 

"Ave  kent  him  since  he  wes  a  laddie,  and  a'  tell 
ye  there  's  nae  dukery-packery  (trickery)  aboot  Burn- 
brae; he's  a  straicht  man  an'  a  gude  neebur.  He 
'ill  be  settlin'  wi'  the  new  factor  this  week,  a'  wes 
hearin'." 


28  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


Next  Sabbath  the  kirkyard  was  thrown  into  a 
state  approaching  excitement  by  Jamie  Soutar,  who, 
in  the  course  of  some  remarks  on  the  prospects  of 
harvest,  casually  mentioned  that  Burnbrae  had  been 
refused  his  lease,  and  would  be  leaving  Drumtochty 
at  Martinmas. 

"What  for?"  said  Drumsheugh  sharply;  while 
Hillocks,  who  had  been  offering  his  box  to  Whinnie, 
remained  with  outstretched  arm. 

"  Naethin'  that  ye  wud  expeck  but  juist  some  bit 
differ  wi'  the  new  factor  aboot  leavin'  his  kirk  an' 
jining  the  lave  o'  us  in  the  Auld  Kirk.  Noo,  if  it 
hed  been  ower  a  cattle  reed  ye  cud  hae  understude 
it,  but  for  a  man  " 

"  Nae  mair  o'  yir  havers,  Jamie,"  broke  in  Drum- 
sheugh, "and  keep  yir  tongue  aff  Burnbrae;  man,  ye 
gied  me  a  fricht. " 

"  Weel,  weel,  ye  dinna  believe  me,  but  it  wes  the 
gude  wife  hersel'  that  said  it  tae  me,  and  she  wes 
terrible  cast  doon.  They 've  been  a'  their  merried 
life  in  the  place,  an'  weemen  tak  ill  wi'  changes 
when  they  're  gettin'  up  in  years." 

"A'  canna  believe  it,  Jamie"  —  although  Drum- 
sheugh  was  plainly  alarmed;  "a' 11  grant  ye  that  the 
new  factor  is  little  better  than  a  waufie,  an'  a  peetifu' 
dooncome  frae  Maister  Leslie,  but  he  daurna  meddle 
wi'  a  man's  releegion. 

"  Bigger  men  than  the  factors  tried  that  trade  in 
the  auld  days,  and  they  didna  come  oot  verra  weel. 
Eh,  Jamie,  ye  ken  thae  stories  better  than  ony  o' 
us." 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT 


"  Some  o'  them  cam  oot  withoot  their  heads,"  said 
Jamie,  with  marked  satisfaction. 

"  Forby  that,"  continued  Drumsheugh,  gaining 
conviction.  "What  dis  the  wratch  ken  aither  aboot 
the  Auld  Kirk  or  Free  Kirk?  if  he  didna  ask  me 
laist  month  hoo  mony  P.  and  O.'s  we  hed  in  the 
glen,  meanin'  U.P. 's,  a'm  jidgin'. 

"  He 's  an  Esculopian  (Episcopalian)  himsel',  if  he 
gaes  ony where,  an'  it  wud  be  a  scannal  for  the  like 
o'  him  tae  mention  the  word  kirk  tae  Burnbrae. " 

"Ye  never  ken  what  a  factor  'ill  dae,"  answered 
Jamie,  whose  prejudices  were  invincible,  "but  the 
chances  are  that  it  'ill  be  mischief,  setting  the  tenant 
against  the  landlord  and  the  landlord  against  the 
tenant;  tyrannising  ower  the  ane  till  he  daurna  lift 
his  head,  an'  pushioning  the  mind  o'  the  ither  till 
he  disna  ken  a  true  man  when  he  sees  him." 

"Preserve  's!"  exclaimed  Hillocks,  amazed  at 
Jamie's  eloquence,  for  the  wrong  of  Burnbrae  had 
roused  our  cynic  to  genuine  passion,  and  his  little 
affectations  had  melted  in  the  white  heat. 

"What  richt  hes  ony  man  to  hand  ower  the  fami- 
lies that  hev  been  on  his  estate  afore  he  wes  born  tae 
be  harried  an'  insulted  by  some  domineering  upstart 
of  a  factor,  an'  then  tae  spend  the  money  wrung 
frae  the  land  by  honest  fouks  amang  strangers  and 
foreigners  ? 

"What  ails  the  landlords  that  they  wunna  live 
amang  their  ain  people  and  oversee  their  ain  affairs, 
so  that  laird  and  farmer  can  mak  their  bargain  wi' 
nae  time-serving  interloper  atween,  an'  the  puirest 


30  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


cottar  on  an  estate  hae  the  richt  tae  see  the  man 
on  whose  lands  he  lives,  as  did  his  fathers  before 
him  ? 

"A'm  no  sayin'  a  word,  mind  ye,  against  Maister 
Leslie,  wha's  dead  and  gaen,  or  ony  factor  like  him; 
he  aye  made  the  maist  he  cud  for  his  lordship,  an' 
that  wes  what  he  wes  paid  for;  but  he  wes  a  fair- 
dealin'  and  gude-hearted  man,  an'  he  'ill  be  sairly 
missed  an'  murned  afore  we  're  dune  wi'  his  successor. 

"  Gin  ony  man  hes  sae  muckle  land  that  he  disna 
know  the  fouk  that  sow  an'  reap  it,  then  a'm  judgin' 
that  he  hes  ower  muckle  for  the  gude  o'  the  com- 
monwealth;  an'  gin  ony  landlord  needs  help,  let  him 
get  some  man  o'  oor  ain  flesh  an'  bluid  tae  guide  his 
affairs. 

"  But  div  ye  ken,  neeburs,  what  his  lordship  hes 
dune,  and  what  sort  o'  man  he 's  set  ower  us,  tae 
meddle  wi'  affairs  he  kens  naethin'  aboot,  an'  tae 
trample  on  the  conscience  o'  the  best  man  in  the 
Glen?  Hae  ye  heard  the  history  o'  oor  new 
ruler?" 

Drumtochty  was  in  no  mood  to  interrupt  Jamie, 
who  was  full  of  power  that  day. 

"A' 11  tell  ye,  then,  what  a've  got  frae  a  sure  hand, 
an'  it 's  the  story  o'  mony  a  factor  that  is  hauding  the 
stick  ower  the  heids  o'  freeborn  Scottish  men. 

"He's  the  cousin  of  an  English  lord,  whose  for- 
bears got  a  title  by  rouping  their  votes,  an'  ony  con- 
science they  hed,  tae  the  highest  bidder  in  the  bad 
auld  days  o'  the  Georges  —  that's  the  kind  o'  bluid 
that 's  in  his  veins,  an'  it 's  no  clean. 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT 


"  His  fouk  started  him  in  the  airmy,  but  he  hed  tae 
leave  —  cairds  or  drink,  or  baith.  He  wes  a  wine- 
merchant  for  a  whilie  an'  failed,  and  then  he  wes 
agent  for  a  manure  company,  till  they  sent  him  aboot 
his  business. 

"  Aifterwards  he  sorned  on  his  freends  and  gam- 
bled at  the  races,  till  his  cousin  got  roond  Lord  Kil- 
spindie,  and  noo  he's  left  wi'  the  poor  o'  life  an' 
death  ower  fovver  pairishes  while  his  lordship  's  awa' 
traivellin'  for  his  health  in  the  East. 

"  It  may  be  that  he  hes  little  releegion,  as  Drums- 
hcugh  says,  an'  we  a'  ken  he  hes  nae  intelligence, 
but  he  hes  plenty  o'  deevilry,  an'  he  's  made  a  begin- 
nin'  wi'  persecutin'  Burnbrae. 

"  A'm  an  Auld  Kirk  man,"  concluded  Jamie,  "an' 
an  Auld  Kirk  man  a' 11  dee  unless  some  misleared 
body  tries  tae  drive  me,  an'  then  a'  wud  jine  the 
Free  Kirk.  Burnbrae  is  the  stiffest  Free  Kirker  in 
Drumtochty,  an'  mony  an  argument  a've  hed  wi' 
him,  but  that  maks  nae  maitter  the  day. 

"Ilka  man  hes  a  richt  tae  his  ain  thochts,  an'  is 
bund  tae  obey  his  conscience  accordin'  tae  his  lichts, 
an'  gin  the  best  man  that  ever  lived  is  tae  dictate  oor 
releegion  tae  us,  then  oor  fathers  focht  an'  deed  in 
vain. " 

Scottish  reserve  conceals  a  rich  vein  of  heroic 
sentiment,  and  this  unexpected  outburst  of  Jamie 
Soutar  had  an  amazing  effect  on  the  fathers,  chang- 
ing the  fashion  of  their  countenances  and  making 
them  appear  as  new  men.  When  he  began,  they 
were  a  group  of  working  farmers,  of  slouching  gait 


FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


and  hesitating  speech  and  sordid  habits,  quickened 
for  the  moment  by  curiosity  to  get  a  bit  of  parish 
news  fresh  from  Jamie's  sarcastic  tongue;  as  Jamie's 
fierce  indignation  rose  to  flame,  a  "dour"  look  came 
into  their  faces,  turning  their  eyes  into  steel,  and 
tightening  their  lips  like  a  vice,  and  before  he  had 
finished  every  man  stood  straight  at  his  full  height, 
with  his  shoulders  set  back  and  his  head  erect, 
while  Drumsheugh  looked  as  if  he  saw  an  army  in 
battle  array,  and  even  Whinnie  grasped  his  snuff- 
box in  a  closed  fist  as  if  it  had  been  a  drawn  sword. 
It  was  the  danger  signal  of  Scottish  men,  and  ancient 
persecutors  who  gave  no  heed  to  it  in  the  past  went 
crashing  to  their  doom. 

"  Div  ye  mean  tae  say,  James  Soutar,"  said  Drums- 
heugh in  another  voice  than  his  wont,  quieter  and 
sterner,  "ye  ken  this  thing  for  certain,  that  the  new 
factor  hes  offered  Burnbrae  the  choice  atween  his 
kirk  an'  his  fairm  ?  " 

"That  is  sae,  Drumsheugh,  asa'm  stannin'  in  this 
kirkyaird  —  although  Burnbrae  himsel',  honest  man, 
hes  said  naething  as  yet  —  an'  a'  thocht  the  suner 
the  pairish  kent  the  better." 

"Ye  did  weel,  Jamie,  an'  a'  tak  back  what  a'  said 
aboot  jokin' ;  this  'ill  be  nae  jokin'  maitter  aither 
for  the  factor  or  Drumtochty. " 

There  was  silence  for  a  full  minute,  for  Whinnie 
himself  knew  that  it  was  a  crisis  in  Drumtochty,  and 
the  fathers  waited  for  Drumsheugh  to  speak. 

People  admired  him  for  his  sharpness  in  bargain- 
ing, and  laughed  at  a  time  about  his  meanness  in 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT  33 


money  affairs,  but  they  knew  that  there  was  a  stiff 
backbone  in  Drumsheugh,  and  that  in  any  straits  of 
principle  he  would  play  the  man. 

"This  is  a  black  beesiness,  neeburs,  an'  nae  man 
among  us  can  see  the  end  o't,  for  gin  they  begin  by 
tryin'  tae  harry  the  Frees  intae  the  Auld  Kirk,  the 
next  thing  they  'ill  dae  wull  be  tae  drive  us  a'  doon 
tae  the  English  Chaipel  at  Kildrummie. " 


KILDK  l- MM  IK 


"There's  juist  ae  mind,  a'  tak'  it,  wi'  richt- 
thinkin'  men,"  and  Drumsheugh's  glance  settled  on 
Hillocks,  whose  scheming  ways  had  somewhat 
sapped  his  manhood,  and  the  unfortunate  land- 
steward,  whose  position  was  suddenly  invested  with 
associations  of  treachery.     "  We  'ill  pay  oor  rent  and 

3 


34  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


dae  oor  duty  by  the  land  like  honest  men,  but  we  'ill 
no  tak  oor  releegion,  no,  nor  oor  politics,  frae  ony 
livin'  man,  naither  lord  nor  factor. 

"We're  a'  sorry  for  Burnbrae,  for  the  brunt  o' 
the  battle  'ill  fa'  on  him,  an'  he  's  been  a  gude 
neebur  ta  a'  body,  but  there  's  nae  fear  o'  him  buying 
his  lease  wi'  his  kirk.  Ma  certes,  the  factor  chose 
the  worst  man  in  the  Glen  for  an  aff  go.  Burnbrae 
wud  raither  see  his  hale  plenishing  gae  doon  the 
Tochty  than  play  Judas  to  his  kirk. 

"  It 's  an  awfu'  peety  that  oor  auld  Scotch  kirk  wes 
split,  and  it  wud  be  a  heartsome  sicht  tae  see  the 
Glen  a'  aneath  ae  roof  aince  a  week.  But  ae  thing 
we  maun  grant,  the  Disruption  lat  the  warld  ken 
there  wes  some  spunk  in  Scotland. 

"There 's  nae  man  a'  wud  raither  welcome  tae  oor 
kirk  than  Burnbrae,  gin  he  cam  o'  his  ain  free  will, 
but  it  wud  be  better  that  the  kirk  sud  stand  empty 
than  be  filled  wi'  a  factor's  hirelings." 

Domsie  took  Drumsheugh  by  the  hand,  and  said 
something  in  Latin  that  escaped  the  fathers,  and 
then  they  went  into  kirk  in  single  file  with  the  air 
of  a  regiment  of  soldiers. 

Drumsheugh  sat  in  the  "briest  o'  the  laft,"  as 
became  a  ruling  elder,  and  had  such  confidence  in 
the  minister's  orthodoxy  that  he  was  accustomed  to 
meditate  during  the  sermon,  but  on  this  memorable 
day  he  sat  upright  and  glared  at  the  pulpit  with  a 
ferocious  expression.  The  doctor  was  disturbed  by 
this  unusual  attention,  and  during  his  mid-sermon 
snuff  sought  in  vain  for  a  reason,  since  the  sermon, 


THE  LOFT  IN  THE  AULD  KIRK 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT  37 


"  On  the  Certainty  of  Harvest,  proved  by  the  Laws 
of  Nature  and  the  Promises  of  Revelation,"  was  an 
annual  event,  and  Drumsheugh,  walking  by  faith, 
had  often  given  it  his  warm  approval.  He  had  only 
once  before  seen  the  same  look  —  after  the  great 
potato  calamity;  and  when  the  elder  came  to  the 
manse,  and  they  had  agreed  as  to  the  filling  quality 
of  the  weather,  the  doctor  inquired  anxiously  how 
Drumsheugh  had  done  with  his  potatoes. 

"  Weel  eneuch,"  with  quite  unaffected  indiffer- 
ence. "Weel  eneuch,  as  prices  are  gaein',  auchteen 
pund,  '  Piggie  '  1  if t in'  an'  me  cairtin'  ;  but  hev  ye 
heard  aboot  Burnbrae?"  and  Drumsheugh  an- 
nounced that  the  factor,  being  left  unto  the  free- 
dom of  his  own  will,  had  opened  a  religious  war  in 
Drumtochty. 

His  voice  vibrated  with  a  new  note  as  he  stated 
the  alternative  offered  to  Burnbrae,  and  the  doctor,  a 
man  well  fed  and  richly  coloured,  as  became  a  bene- 
ficed clergyman,  turned  purple. 

"  I  told  Kilspindie,  the  day  before  he  left,"  burst 
out  the  doctor,  "  that  he  had  made  a  mistake  in 
bringing  a  stranger  in  John  Leslie's  place,  who  was 
a  cautious,  sensible  man,  and  never  made  a  drop  of 
bad  blood  all  the  time  he  was  factor. 

"'Tomkyns  is  a  very  agreeable  fellow,  Davidson,' 
his  lordship  said  to  me,  '  and  a  first-rate  shot  in  the 
cover;  besides,  he  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  life,  and 
knows  how  to  manage  men. ' 

"  '  It 's  all  bad  life  he 's  seen, '  I  said,  1  and  it 's  not 
dining  and  shooting  make  a  factor.    That  man  'ill 


38  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


stir  up  mischief  on  the  estate  before  you  come  back, 
as  sure's  your  name's  Kilspindie, '  but  I  never  ex- 
pected it  would  take  this  turn. 

"Fool  of  a  man,"  and  the  doctor  raged  through 
the  study,  "  does  he  not  know  that  it  would  be  safer 
for  him  to  turn  the  rotation  of  crops  upside  down 
and  to  double  every  rent  than  to  meddle  with  a  man's 
religion  in  Drumtochty  ? 

"  Drumsheugh,"  said  the  doctor,  coming  to  a 
stand,  "  I 've  been  minister  of  this  parish  when  there 
was  only  one  church,  and  I 've  been  minister  since 
the  Free  Church  began.  I  saw  half  my  people  leave 
me,  and  there  were  hot  words  going  in  '43 ;  but 
nothing  so  base  as  this  has  been  done  during  the 
forty  years  of  my  office,  and  I  call  God  to  witness  I 
have  lived  at  peace  with  all  men. 

"  I  would  rather  cut  off  my  right  hand  than  do  an 
injury  to  Burnbrae  or  any  man  for  his  faith,  and  it 
would  break  my  heart  if  the  Free  Kirk  supposed  I 
had  anything  to  do  with  this  deed. 

"The  factor  is  to  be  at  the  inn  on  Tuesday;  I  '11 
go  to  him  there  and  then,  and  let  him  know  that  he 
cannot  touch  Burnbrae  without  rousing  the  whole 
parish  of  Drumtochty." 

"  Ye  'ill  tak  me  wi'  ye,  sir,  no  tae  speak,  but  juist 
tae  let  him  see  hoo  the  Auld  Kirk  feels." 

"That  I  will,  Drumsheugh;  there's  grit  in  the 
Glen;  and  look  you,  if  you  meet  Burnbrae  coming 
from  his  kirk  ye  might  just  " 

"  It  wes  in  ma  ain  mind,  doctor,  tae  sae  a  word 
for  's  a',  an'  noo  a' 11  speak  wi*  authority.    The  Auld 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT 


and  the  Frees  shoother  tae  shoother  for  the  first  time 
since  '43 —  it  'ill  be  graund. 

"Sail,"  said  Drumsheugh,  as  this  new  aspect  of 
the  situation  opened,  "  the  factor  hes  stirred  a  wasp's 
byke  when  he  meddled  wi'  Drumtochty. " 


THE  INN 


The  council  of  the  Frees  had  been  somewhat 
divided  that  morning  —  most  holding  stoutly  that 
Doctor  Davidson  knew  nothing  of  the  factor's 
action,  a  few  in  their  bitterness  being  tempted  to 
suspect  every  one,  but  Burnbrae  was  full  of  charity. 

"Dinna  speak  that  wy,  Netherton,  for  it's  no 
Christian  ;  Doctor  Davidson  may  be  a  Moderate,  but 
he 's  a  straicht-forward  an'  honourable  gentleman,  as 
his  father  wes  afore  him,  and  hes  never  said  '  kirk  ' 


40  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


to  ane  o'  us  save  in  the  wy  o'  freendliness  a'  his 
days. 

"It 's  no  his  blame  nor  Lord  Kilspindie's,  ye  may 
lippen  (trust)  to  that;  this  trial  is  the  wull  o'  God, 
an'  we  maun  juist  seek  grace  tae  be  faithfu'." 

Every  Sabbath  a  company  of  the  Auld  Kirk  going 
west  met  a  company  of  the  Frees  going  east,  and 
nothing  passed  except  a  nod  or  "a  wee  saft, "  in  the 
case  of  drenching  rain,  not  through  any  want  of 
neighbourliness,  but  because  this  was  the  nature  God 
had  been  pleased  to  give  Drumtochty. 

For  the  first  time,  the  Auld  Kirk  insisted  on  a 
halt  and  conversation.  It  did  not  sound  much,  being 
mainly  a  comparison  of  crops  among  the  men,  and  a 
brief  review  of  the  butter  market  by  the  women  — 
Jamie  Soutar  only  going  the  length  of  saying  that  he 
was  coming  next  Sabbath  to  hear  the  last  of  Cun- 
ningham's "course" — 'but  it  was  understood  to  be  a 
demonstration,  and  had  its  due  effect. 

"A'  wes  wrang, "  said  Netherton  to  Donald  Men- 
zies;  "they've  hed  naething  tae  daewi't;  a'  kent 
that  the  meenute  a'  saw  Jamie  Soutar.  Yon  's  the 
first  time  a'  ever  mind  them  stoppin',''  and  a  mile 
further  on  Netherton  added,  "That 's  ae  gude  thing, 
at  ony  rate. " 

Burnbrae  and  Drumsheugh  met  later,  and  alone, 
and  there  were  no  preliminaries. 

"Jamie  Soutar  told  us  this  mornin',  Burnbrae,  in 
the  kirkyaird,  and  a've  come  straicht  the  noo  frae 
the  doctor's  study,  and  ye  never  saw  a  man  mair 
concerned. 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT 


4i 


"He  chairged  me  tae  say,  withoot  delay,  that  he 
wud  raither  hae  cut  aff  his  richt  hand  than  dae  ye  an 
ill,  an'  he  's  gaein'  this  verra  week  tae  gie  his  mind 
tae  the  factor. 

"  Man,  it  wud  hae  dune  your  hert  gude  gin  ye  hed 
heard  Jamie  this  mornin'  in  the  kirkyaird;  he  fair 
set  the  heather  on  fire  —  a'm  no  settled  yet  —  we  're 
a'  wi'  ye,  every  man  o's. 

"  Na,  na,  Burnbrae,  we  're  no  tae  lose  ye  yet;  ye 
'ill  hae  yir  kirk  and  yir  fairm  in  spite  o'  a'  the  factors 
in  Perthshire,  but  a'm  expcckin'  a  fecht." 

"Thank  ye,  Drumsheugh,  thank  ye  kindly;  and 
wull  ye  tell  Doctor  Davidson  that  he  hesna  lived 
forty  years  in  the  Glen  for  naethin'  ? 

"We  said  this  mornin'  that  he  wud  scorn  tae  fill 
his  kirk  with  renegades,  and  sae  wud  ye  a',  but  a' 
wesna  prepared  for  sic  feel  in'. 

"There's  ae  thing  maks  me  prood  o'  the  Glen: 
nae  man,  Auld  or  Free,  hes  bidden  me  pit  ma  fairm 
afore  ma  kirk,  but  a' body  expecks  me  tae  obey  ma 
conscience. 

"A've  got  till  Monday  week  tae  consider  ma 
poseetion,  and  it  'ill  depend  on  the  factor  whether 
a' 11  be  allowed  tae  close  ma  days  in  the  place  where 
ma  people  hae  lived  for  sax  generations,  or  gae  forth 
tae  dee  in  a  strange  land." 

"  Dinna  speak  like  that,  Burnbrae;  the  doctor 
hesna  hed  his  say  yet;  the  '11  be  somethin'  worth 
hearin'  when  he  faces  the  factor;"  and  Drums- 
heugh waited  for  the  battle  between  Church  and 
State  with   a   pleasurable   anticipation   of  lively 


42  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


argument,  tempered  only  by  a  sense  of  Burnbrae's 
anxiety. 

The  factor,  who  was  dressed  in  the  height  of 
sporting  fashion  and  looked  as  if  he  had  lived  hard, 
received  the  doctor  and  his  henchman  with  effusion. 

"  Doctor  Davidson,  Established  Church  clergyman 
of  Drumtochty  ?  quite  a  pleasure  to  see  you ;  one  of 
our  farmers,  I  think;  seen  you  before,  eh?  Drum, 
Drum  —  can't  quite  manage  your  heathenish  names 
yet,  d'  ye  know. 

"Splendid  grouse  moor  you've  got  up  here,  and 
only  one  poacher  in  the  whole  district,  the  keepers 
tell  me.  D'  you  take  a  gun  yourself,  Doctor  —  ah  — 
Donaldson,  or  does  the  kirk  not  allow  that  kind  of 
thing?  "  and  the  factor's  laugh  had  a  fine  flavour  of 
contempt  for  a  Scotch  country  minister. 

"  My  name  is  Davidson,  at  your  service,  Mr. 
Tomkyns,  and  I 've  shot  with  Lord  Kilspindie  when 
we  were  both  young  fellows  in  the  'forties,  from 
Monday  to  Friday,  eight  hours  a  day,  and  our  bag 
for  the  week  was  the  largest  that  has  ever  been  made 
in  Perthshire. 

"  But  I  came  here  on  a  matter  of  business,  and,  if 
you  have  no  objection,  I  would  like  to  ask  a  simple 
question. " 

"Delighted,  I'm  sure,  to  tell  you  anything  you 
wish,"  said  the  factor,  considerably  sobered. 

"Well,  a  very  unpleasant  rumour  is  spreading 
through  the  parish  that  you  have  refused  to  renew  a 
farmer's  lease  unless  he  promised  to  leave  the  Free 
Church  ?  " 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT  43 


"An  old  fellow,  standing  very  straight,  with 
white  hair,  called  —  let  me  see,  Baxter;  yes,  that  's 
it,  Baxter;  is  that  the  man?  " 

"Yes,  that  is  the  name,"  said  the  doctor,  with 
growing  severity;  "John  Baxter  of  Burnbrae,  the 
best  man  in  the  parish  of  Drumtochty ;  and  I  want 
an  answer  to  my  question." 

"You  will  get  it,"  and  Tomkyns  fixed  his  eyeglass 
with  an  aggressive  air.  "  I  certainly  told  Baxter 
that  if  he  wanted  to  stay  on  the  estate  he  must  give 
up  his  dissenting  nonsense  and  go  to  the  kirk." 

"  May  I  ask  your  reason  for  this  extraordinary 
condition?"  and  Drumsheugh  could  see  that  the 
doctor  was  getting  dangerous. 

"Got  the  wrinkle  from  my  cousin's,  Lord  De 
Tomkyns 's,  land  agent.  He's  cleared  all  the  Metho- 
dists off  their  estate. 

"'The  fewer  the  dissenters  the  better,'  he  said 
to  me,  '  when  you  come  to  an  election,  d'  you 
know. 

"  Are  you  mad,  and  worse  than  mad  ?  Who  gave 
you  authority  to  interfere  with  any  man's  religion? 
You  know  neither  the  thing  you  are  doing,  nor  the 
men  with  whom  you  have  to  do.  Our  farmers, 
thank  God,  are  not  ignorant  serfs  who  know  nothing 
and  cannot  call  their  souls  their  own,  but  men  who 
have  learned  to  think  for  themselves,  and  fear  no 
one  save  Almighty  God." 

The  factor  could  hardly  find  his  voice  for  amaze- 
ment. 

"  But,  I  say,  are  n't  you  the  Established  Kirk 


44  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


minister  and  a  Tory?  This  seems  to  me  rather 
strange  talk,  don't  you  know." 

"Perhaps  it  does,"  replied  the  doctor,  "but  there 
is  nothing  a  man  feels  deeper  than  the  disgrace  of 
his  own  side." 

"Well,"  said  Tomkyns,  stung  by  the  word  dis- 
grace, "there  are  lots  of  things  I  could  have  done 
for  you,  but  if  this  is  your  line  it  may  not  be  quite 
so  pleasant  for  yourself  in  Drumtochty,  let  me  tell 
you. " 

The  doctor  was  never  a  diplomatic  advocate,  and 
now  he  allowed  himself  full  liberty. 

"  You  make  Drumtochty  pleasant  or  unpleasant 
for  me!"  with  a  withering  glance  at  the  factor. 
"  There  is  one  man  in  this  parish  neither  you  nor 
your  master  nor  the  Queen  herself,  God  bless  her, 
can  touch,  and  that  is  the  minister  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church. 

"I  was  here  before  you  were  born,  and  I  '11  be 
here  when  you  have  been  dismissed  from  your  office. 
There  is  just  one  favour  I  beg  of  you,  and  I  hope 
you  will  grant  it  "  — ■  the  doctor  was  now  thundering 
—  "  it  is  that  you  never  dare  to  speak  to  me  the  few 
times  you  may  yet  come  to  the  parish  of  Drumtochty. " 

Drumsheugh  went  straight  to  give  Burnbrae  an 
account  of  this  interview,  and  his  enthusiasm  was 
still  burning. 

"Naethin'  'ill  daunt  the  doctor  —  tae  hear  him 
dress  the  factor  wes  michty;  he  hed  his  gold-headed 
stick  wi'  him,  'at  wes  his  father's,  an'  when  he 
brocht  it  dune  on  the  table  at  the  end,  the  eyegless 


THE  COUNTRY  TYRANT 


45 


droppit  oot  o'  the  waefu'  body's  'ee,  an'  the  very 
rings  on  his  fingers  jingled. 

"The  doctor  bade  me  say  'at  he  hed  pled  yir  case, 
but  he  wes  feared  he  hed  dune  ye  mair  ill  than  gude. " 

"Be  sure  he  hesna  dune  that,  Drurnsheugh;  a' 
didna  expeck  that  he  cud  change  the  factor's  mind, 
an'  a'm  no  disappointed. 

"  But  the  doctor  hes  dune  a  gude  wark  this  day 
he  never  thocht  o',  and  that  will  bring  a  blessing 
beyond  mony  leases;  for  as  lang  as  this  generation 
lives  an'  their  children  aifter  them,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered that  the  parish  minister,  wi'  his  elder  beside 
him,  forgot  thae  things  wherein  we  differ,  and  stude 
by  the  Free  Kirk  in  the  'oor  o'  her  adversity." 


II 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE 

It  was  known  in  the  Glen  that  Burnbrae  must  choose 
on  Monday  between  his  farm  and  his  conscience, 
and  the  atmosphere  in  the  Free  Church  on  Sabbath 
was  such  as  might  be  felt.  When  he  arrived  that 
morning,  with  Jean  and  their  three  sons  —  the  fourth 
was  in  a  Highland  regiment  on  the  Indian  frontier 
—  the  group  that  gathered  at  the  outer  gate  opened 
to  let  them  pass,  and  the  elders  shook  Burnbrae  by 
the  hand  in  serious  silence;  and  then,  instead  of 
waiting  to  discuss  the  prospects  of  the  Sustentation 
Fund  with  Netherton,  Burnbrae  went  in  with  his 
family,  and  sat  down  in  the  pew  where  they  had 
worshipped  God  since  the  Disruption. 

The  cloud  of  the  coming  trial  fell  on  the  elders, 
and  no  man  found  his  voice  for  a  space.  Then 
Donald  Menzies's  face  suddenly  lightened,  and  he 
lifted  his  head. 

"  *  With  persecutions'  wass  in  the  promise,  and 
the  rest  it  will  be  coming  sure." 

"You  hef  the  word,  Donald  Menzies,"  said 
Lachlan ;  and  it  came  to  this  handful  of  Scottish 
peasants  that  they  had  to  make  that  choice  that 


THE  AULD  TOCHTV  BRIDGE 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  49 


has  been  offered  unto  every  man  since  the  world 
began. 

Carmichael's  predecessor  was  minister  of  the  Free 
Church  in  those  days,  who  afterwards  got  Univer- 
sity preferment  —  he  wrote  a  book  on  the  Greek 
particles,  much  tasted  in  certain  circles  —  and  is 
still  called  "the  Professor"  in  a  hushed  voice 
by  old  people.  He  was  so  learned  a  scholar  that 
he  would  go  out  to  visit  without  his  hat,  and  so 
shy  that  he  could  walk  to  Kildrummie  with  one  of 
his  people  on  the  strength  of  two  observations, 
the  first  at  Tochty  bridge  and  the  other  at  the 
crest  of  the  hill  above  the  station.  Lachlan  him- 
self did  not  presume  at  times  to  understand  his 
sermons,  but  the  Free  Church  loved  their  scholar, 
for  they  knew  the  piety  and  courage  that  dwelt  in 
the  man. 

The  manse  housekeeper,  who  followed  Cunning- 
ham with  his  hat  and  saw  that  he  took  his  food  at 
more  or  less  regular  intervals,  was  at  her  wit's  end 
before  that  Sabbath. 

"  A'vc  hcd  chairge  o'  him,"  she  explained  to  the 
clachan,  "since  he  wes  a  laddie,  an'  he 's  a  fine  bit 
craiturie  ony  wy  ye  tak'  him. 

"Ye  juist  hammer  at  his  door  in  the  morning  till 

ye  're  sure  he  's  up,  an'  bring  him  oot  o'  the  study 

when  denner  's  ready,  an'  watch  he  hesna  a  buke 

hoddit  aboot  him  —  for  he's  tricky- — an'  come  in  on 

him  every  wee  whilie  till  ye  think  he 's  heel  eneuch, 

an'  tak'  awa  his  lamp  when  it  's  time  for  him  tae 

gang  tae  bed,  an'  it  's  safer  no  tae  lat  him  hae  mair 

4 


50  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


than  a  can'le  end,  or  he  wud  set  tae  readin'  in  his 
bed.     Na,  na,  he 's  no  ill  tae  guide. 

"But  keep  's  a',  he 's  been  sae  crouse  this  week 
that  he  's  fair  gae'n  ower  me.  He  's  been  speakin' 
tae  himsel'  in  the  study,  an'  he  '11  get  up  in  the 
middle  o'  his  denner  an'  rin  roond  the  gairden. 


THE  MANSE  OF  THE  FREE  KIRK 


"Ye  ken  the  minister  hardly  ever  speaks  gin  ye 
dinna  speak  tae  him,  though  he's  aye  canty;  bit 
this  week  if  he  didna  stop  in  the  middle  o'  his 
denner  an'  lay  aff  a  story  aboot  three  hunder  lads 
that  held  a  glen  wi'  their  swords  till  the  laist  o' 
them  wes  killed  —  a'm  dootin'  they  were  Hielan' 
caterans —  an'  he  yokit  on  the  auld  martyrs  ae  nicht 
tae  sic  an  extent  that  I  wes  near  the  greetin'. 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  51 


"Ye  wudna  ken  him  thae  times  —  he  's  twice  his 
size,  an'  the  langidge  poors  frae  him.  A'  tell  ye 
Burnbrae  \s  on  his  brain,  and  ye  '11  hae  a  sermon 
worth  hearin'  on  Sabbath.  Naebody  kens  the  spirit 
'at 's  in  ma  laddie  when  he 's  roosed,"  concluded 
Maysie,  with  the  just  pride  of  one  who  had  tended 
her  scholar  since  childhood. 

"  What  shall  it  profit  a  man,"  was  the  text,  and  in 
all  the  sermon  there  was  not  one  abusive  word,  but 
the  minister  exalted  those  things  that  endure  for 
ever  above  those  that  perish  in  the  using,  with  such 
spiritual  insight  and  wealth  of  illustration — there 
was  a  moral  resonance  in  his  very  voice  which  made 
men's  nerves  tingle  —  that  Mrs.  Macfadyen,  for  once 
in  her  life,  refused  to  look  at  heads,  and  Donald 
Menzies  could  hardly  contain  himself  till  the  last 
psalm. 

It  was  the  custom  in  the  Free  Kirk  for  the  minis- 
ter to  retire  first,  facing  the  whole  "congregation  on 
his  way  to  the  vestry  at  the  back  of  the  church,  and 
Cunningham  confided  to  a  friend  that  he  lost  in 
weight  during  the  middle  passage;  but  on  this  Sab- 
bath he  looked  every  man  in  the  face,  and  when  he 
came  to  Burnbrae' s  pew  the  minister  paused,  and 
the  two  men  clasped  hands.  No  word  was  spoken, 
not  a  person  around  moved,  but  the  people  in  front 
felt  the  thrill,  and  knew  something  had  happened. 

No  one  was  inclined  to  speak  about  that  sermon 
on  the  way  home,  and  Netherton  gave  himself  with 
ostentation  to  the  finger-and-toe  disease  among  the 
turnips.     But  the  Free  Kirk  had  no  doubt  what 


52  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


answer  Burnbrae  would  give  the  factor,  and  each 
man  resolved  within  his  heart  that  he  would  do  like- 
wise in  his  time. 

"It 's  michty,"  was  Jamie  Soutar's  comment,  who 
had  attended  the  Free  Kirk  to  show  his  sympathy, 
"what  can  be  dune  by  speech.    Gin  there  wes  a 


ON  THE  WAY  HOME 

juitlin',  twa-faced  wratch  in  the  kirk,  yon  sermon 
hes  straichtened  him  oot  an'  made  a  man  o'  him. 

"  Maister  Cunningham  's  no  muckle  tae  look  at  an' 
he 's  the  quietest  body  a'  ever  saw;  but  he 's  graund 
stuff  every  inch  o'  him,  and  hes  the  courage  o'  a 
lion." 

Burnbrae  and  Jean  walked  home  that  Sabbath 
alone,  and  the  past  encompassed  their  hearts.  The 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  53 


road  they  had  walked  since  childhood,  unchanged 
save  for  the  gap  where  the  old  beech  fell  in  the  great 
storm,  and  the  growth  of  the  slowly  maturing  oaks; 
the  burns  that  ran  beneath  the  bridges  with  the 
same  gurgling  sound  while  generations  came  and 
went ;  the  fields  that 
had  gone  twelve  times 
through  the  rotation  of 
grass,  oats,  turnips,  bar- 
ley, grass  since  they 
remembered ;  the  farm- 
houses looking  down 
upon  the  road  with  fa- 
miliar kindly  faces  — 
Gormack  had  a  new 
window,  and  Clay  what 
another  room  above  the 
kitchen  —  awoke  sleep- 
ing memories  and  ap- 
pealed against  their 
leaving. 

When  they  came  be- 
low Woodhead,  the  two 
old   people  halted  and 

looked  up  the  track  where  the  hawthorn  hedges,  now 
bright  with  dogroses,  almost  met,  and  a  cart  had  to 
force  its  way  through  the  sweet -smelling  greenery. 
It  was  in  Woodhead  that  Jean  had  been  reared, 
and  a  brother  was  still  living  there  with  her  only 
sister. 

"Div  ye  mind  the  nicht,  Jean,  that  ye  cam  doon 


A  BRIDGE  ON  THE  ROAD 


54  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


the  road  wi'  me  and  a'  askit  ye  tae  be  ma  wife?  it 
wes  aboot  this  time." 

"  It  'ill  be  forty-five  year  the  mornin's  nicht,  John, 
and  a'  see  the  verra  place  fra  here.  It  wes  at  the 
turn  o'  the  road,  and  there  's  a  rosebush  yonder 
still. 


WOODHEAD  FARM 


"  Ye  pluckit  me  a  rose  afore  we  pairtit,  an'  a'  hae 
the  leaves  o't  in  the  cover  of  ma  Bible,  an'  the  rose 
at  oor  gairden  gate  is  a  cuttin'  that  a'  took." 

The  old  schoolhouse  was  not  visible  from  the 
road,  but  on  sight  of  the  path  that  turned  upwards 
to  its  wood,  Jean  looked  at  Burnbrae  with  the  inex- 
tinguishable roguery  of  a  woman  in  her  eyes,  and 
he  understood. 

"  Aye,  ye  were  a  hempie  o'  a  lassie,  Jean,  making 
faces  at  me  as  often  as  a'  lookit  at  ye,  an'  crying, 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  55 


'Douce  John  Baxter/  till  a'  wes  near  the  greetin' 
on  the  wy  hame. " 

"But  a'  likit  ye  a'  the  time  better  than  ony  laddie 
in  the  schule;  a'  think  a'  hived  ye  frae  the  beginning 
John. " 

"Wes  't  luve  gared  ye  dad  ma  ears  wi'  yir  bukes 
at  the  corner,  and  shute  me  in  amang  the  whins? 
but  ye '11  hae  forgotten  that,  wumman. " 

"Feint  a  bit  o'  me;  it  wes  the  day  ye  took  Meg 
Mitchell's  pairt,  when  we  fell  oot  ower  oor  places 
in  the  class.  A'  didna  mind  her  bein'  abune  me, 
but  a'  cudna  thole  ye  turnin'  against  me." 

"  Hoo  lang  is  that  ago,  Jean?  " 

"Sax  and  fifty  year  ago  laist  summer." 

The  auld  kirk  stood  on  a  bluff  overlooking  the 
Tochty,  with  the  dead  of  the  Glen  round  it;  and  at 
the  look  on  Jean's  face,  Burnbrae  turned  up  the  kirk 
road  along  which  every  family  went  some  day  in 
sorrow. 

The  Baxters'  ground  lay  in  a  corner,  where  the 
sun  fell  pleasantly  through  the  branches  of  a  beech 
in  the  afternoon  and  not  far  from  the  place  where 
afterwards  we  laid  Domsie  to  rest.  The  gravestone 
was  covered  on  both  sides  with  names,  going  back 
a  century,  and  still  unable  to  commemorate  all  the 
Baxters  that  had  lived  and  died  after  an  honest 
fashion  in  Drnmtochty.  The  last  name  was  that  of 
a  child : 

Jean,  the  daughter  of  John  Baxter, 
Farmer  of  Burnbrae, 
Aged  7  years. 


56 


FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


There  was  no  "beloved"  nor  any  text,  but  each 
spring  the  primroses  came  out  below,  and  all  sum- 
mer a  bunch  of  pinks  touched  the  "Jean"  with  their 
fragrant  blossoms. 

Her  mother  stooped  to  pluck  a  weed  from  among 
the  flowers  and  wipe  the  letters  of  the  name  where 
the  moss  was  gathering,  then  she  bent  her  head 


on  the  grey,  worn  stone,  and  cried,  "Jeannie, 
Jeannie,  ma  bonnie  lassie." 

"Dinna  greet,  Jean,  as  though  we  hed  nae  lassie," 
said  Burnbrae,  "for  there's  naethin'  here  but  the 
dust.  Ye  mind  what  the  minister  read  that  day, 
'  He  shall  gather  the  lambs  with  His  arm,  and  carry 
them  in  His  bosom. ' 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  57 


"Be  thankfu'  we  have  the  fower  laddies  spared,  a' 
daein'  weel,  an'  ane  near  ready  for  a  kirk,  an'  you 
an'  me  thegither  still.  We 've  hed  mony  mercies, 
Jean. " 

"A'm  no  denyin'  that,  John,  an'  a'm  prood  o' 
the  laddies;  but  there 's  no'  a  day  a'  dinna  miss  ma 
lassie,  an'  a'  can  hear  her  sayin'  'mither'  still  when 
ye  're  a'  in  the  fields  and  a'm  alane. " 

"Wae's  me,  wha  will  care  for  her  grave  when 
we  're  far  awa  an'  no  a  Baxter  left  in  the  Glen? 
It  's  no  lichtsome  to  leave  the  hoose  whar  we 've 
livit  sae  lang,  an'  the  fields  ye 've  lookit  at  a'  yir 
days,  but  it's  sairest  tae  leave  yir  dead." 

The  past  with  the  tender  associations  that  make  a 
woman's  life  was  tightening  its  hold  on  Jean,  and 
when  they  looked  down  on  the  Glen  from  the  height 
of  Burnbrae,  her  voice  broke  again  : 

"It's  a  bonnie  sicht,  John,  an'  kindly  tae  oor 
eyes;  we  'ill  never  see  anither  tae  sateesfy  oor  auld 
age." 

"  A've  seen  nae  ither  a'  ma  days,"  said  Burnbrae, 
"an'  there  can  be  nane  sae  dear  tae  me  noo  in  this 
warld;  but  it  can  be  boucht  ower  dear,  lass,"  and 
when  she  looked  at  him,  "wi'  oor  souls,  Jean,  wi' 
oor  souls." 

No  Drumtochty  man  felt  at  ease  on  Sabbath,  or 
spoke  quite  like  himself  at  home,  till  he  had  escaped 
from  his  blacks  and  had  his  tea.  Then  he  stretched 
himself  with  an  air  of  negligence,  and  started  on  a 
survey  of  his  farm,  which  allowed  of  endless  medi- 
tation, and  lasted  in  summer  time  unto  the  going 


58  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


down  of  the  sun.  It  was  a  leisurely  progress,  in 
which  time  was  of  no  importance,  from  field  to  field 
and  into  every  corner  of  each  field,  and  from  beast 
to  beast  and  round  every  beast  to  the  completion  of 
as  many  circles  as  there  were  beasts.  The  rate  was 
about  one  and  a  half  miles  an  hour,  excluding  halts, 
and  the  thumbs  were  never  removed  from  the  arm- 
holes  except  for  experimental  observations.  No  one 
forgot  that  it  was  Sabbath,  and  there  were  things  no 
right-thinking  man  would  do.  Drumsheugh  might 
sample  a  head  of  oats  in  his  hand,  in  sheer  absence 
of  mind,  but  he  would  have  been  ashamed  to  lift 
a  shaw  of  potatoes;  and  although  Hillocks  usually 
settled  the  price  he  would  ask  for  his  fat  cattle  in 
the  midst  of  these  reveries,  he  always  felt  their  ribs 
on  a  Saturday.  When  the  gudeman  came  in,  he  had 
taken  stock  with  considerable  accuracy,  but  he  was 
justly  horrified  to  find  his  wife  asleep,  with  her 
head  uncomfortably  pillowed  on  the  open  family 
Bible. 

With  the  more  religious  men  these  Sabbath  even- 
ing  walks  had  in  them  less  of  this  world  and  more 
of  that  which  is  to  come.  Donald  Menzies  had  seen 
strange  things  in  the  fading  light  as  he  wandered 
among  the  cattle,  and  this  evening  the  years  that 
were  gone  came  back  to  Burnbrae.  For  a  townsman 
may  be  born  in  one  city,  and  educated  in  a  second, 
and  married  in  a  third,  and  work  in  a  fourth.  His 
houses  are  but  inns,  which  he  uses  and  forgets;  he 
has  no  roots,  and  is  a  vagrant  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.    But  the  countryman  is  born  and  bred,  and 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  61 


marries  and  toils  and  dies  on  one  farm,  and  the 
scene  he  looks  at  in  his  old  age  is  the  same  he  saw 
in  his  boyhood.  His  roots  are  struck  deep  into  the 
soil,  and  if  you  tear  them  up,  his  heart  withers  and 
dies.  When  some  townsman  therefore  reads  of  a 
peasant  being  cast  out  of  his  little  holding,  he  must 
not  consider  that  it  is  the  same  as  a  tenant  going 
from  one  street  to  another,  for  it  is  not  a  house  this 
farmer  leaves:  it  is  his  life. 

Burnbrae  passed  through  the  kitchen  on  his  way 
out,  and  an  old  chair  by  the  fireside  made  him  a 
laddie  again,  gathered  with  the  family  on  a  winter 
Sabbath  evening,  and  he  heard  his  father  asking  the 
"chief  end  of  man."  The  first  gate  on  the  farm 
swung  open  at  a  touch,  and  he  remembered  this  was 
his  father's  idea,  and  he  found  the  wedge  that 
changed  the  elevation  of  the  hinge.  That  was  a 
dyke  he  built  in  his  youth,  and  there  was  the  stone 
he  blasted  out  of  the  field,  for  the  hole  was  still 
open.  Down  in  that  meadow  there  used  to  be  a 
pond  where  he  was  almost  drowned  nearly  seventy 
years  ago,  but  he  had  drained  it,  and  the  corn  upon 
the  place  was  growing  rank.  This  was  the  little 
bridge  he  had  mended  for  the  home-coming  of  his 
bride,  and  from  that  rock  his  old  father  had  directed 
him  with  keen  interest,  and  in  that  clump  of  trees, 
alone  before  the  Eternal,  the  great  event  of  his  soul 
had  come  to  pass.  He  had  often  thought  that  some 
day  he  would  be  carried  over  that  bridge,  and  trusted 
he  was  ready,  but  he  hoped  he  might  be  spared  to 
see  the  Black  Watch  come  home,  and  to  hear  his 


62  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


youngest  son  preach  in  Drumtochty  Free  Kirk. 
The  agony  of  leaving  came  upon  him,  and  Burnbrae 
turned  aside  among  the  trees. 

He  sought  out  Jean  on  his  return,  and  found  her 
in  a  little  summer-house,  which  he  had  made  the 
first  year  of  their  marriage.  As  they  sat  together 
in  silence,  each  feeling  for  the  other,  Burnbrae's 
eyes  fell  on  a  patch  of  annuals,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  as  if  they  made  some  letters. 

Burnbrae  looked  at  his  wife. 

"  Is  that  oor  lassie's  name?  " 

"Aye,  it  is.  A've  sown  it  mony  a  year,  but  this 
is  the  first  summer  a'  cud  read  it  plain,  and  the  last 
a'll  sow  it  in  oor  gairden ;  an'  yon 's  the  apple-tree 
we  planted  the  year  she  wes  born,  an'  the  blossom 
never  wes  sae  bonnie  as  this  year. 

"Oh,  John,  a'  ken  we  oucht  tae  dae  what 's  richt, 
an'  no  deny  oor  principles;  but  a'  canna  leave,  a' 
canna  leave. 

"It 's  no  siller  or  plenishing  a'm  thinkin'  aboot; 
it 's  the  hoose  ye  brocht  me  tae  that  day,  an'  the 
room  ma  bairns  were  born  in,  an'  the  gairden  she 
played  in,  an'  whar  a'  think  o'  her  in  the  gloamin'. 

"  It 's  mair  than  a'  can  bear  tae  pairt  wi'  ma  hame, 
an'  the  kirkyaird,  an'  gang  into  a  strange  place 
where  a'  ken  naebody  and  naebody  kens  us.  It  'ill 
brak  ma  hert. 

"Are  ye  fixed  aboot  this  maitter,  John?  .  .  . 
there  's  no  muckle  difference  aifter  a'.  .  .  .  Dr. 
Davidson's  a  fine  man,  an'  a've  herd  ye  praise  him 
yersel  ...  if  ye  promised  tae  gang  at  a  time,  may- 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE 


63 


be.  ..."  And  Jean  touched  Burnbrae  timidly  with 
her  hand. 

"  A'  want  tae  dee  here  and  be  beeried  wi'  Jeannie. " 

"Dinna  try  me  like  this,"  Burnbrae  cried,  with 
agony  in  his  voice,  "for  the  cross  is  heavy  eneuch 
already  withoot  the  wccht  o'  yir  pleadin'. 

"Ye  dinna  see  the  nicht  what  ye  are  askin',  for 
yir  een  are  blind  wi'  tears.  If  a'  gied  in  tae  ye  and 
did  what  ye  ask,  ye  wud  be  the  sorriest  o'  the  twa, 
for  nane  hes  a  truer  hert  than  ma  ain  wife. 

"  If  it  wes  ony thing  else  ye  askit,  ye  wud  hae  it, 
Jean,  though  it  cost  me  a'  my  gear,  but  a'  daurna 
deny  my  Lord,  no  even  for  yir  dear  sake.  .  .  .  He 
died  for  us  .  .  .  an'  this  is  a'  He  asks.  .  .  . 

"A'  maun  sae  no  tae  the  factor  the  mornin',  an'  if 
ye  're  against  me  it  'ill  be  hard  on  flesh  and  blood. 
.  .  .  Say  yir  wullin',  an'  a'  fear  nae  evil,  Jean." 

"  A'm  tryin'  hard,  John,"  and  they  spoke  together 
with  a.  low  voice,  while  the  kindly  darkness  fell  as  a 
sacred  cover  round  about  them;  and  when  they  came 
into  the  light  of  the  kitchen,  where  the  family  was 
waiting,  there  was  victory  on  the  face  of  Burnbrae 
and  Jean  his  wife. 

"Well  Baxter,"  said  the  factor  in  his  room  next 
day,  "your  offer  is  all  right  in  money,  and  we 'ill 
soon  settle  the  building.  By  the  way,  I  suppose 
you 've  thought  over  that  kirk  affair,  and  will  give 
your  word  to  attend  the  Established  Church,  eh?  " 

"Ye  may  be  sure  that  a've  gien  a'  ye  said  ma  best 
judgment,  an'  there  's  naething  I  wudna  dae  to  be  left 
in  Burnbrae,  but  this  thing  ye  ask  a'  canna  grant." 


64  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"Why  not?  "  and  the  factor,  lounging  in  his  chair, 
eyed  Burnbrae  contemptuously  as  he  stood  erect 
before  him.  "  My  groom  tells  me  that  there  is  not 
a  grain  of  difference  between  all  those  kirks  in  Scot- 
land, and  that  the  whole  affair  is  just  downright 
bad  temper,  and  I  believe  he's  right." 

"A'  wudna  say  onything  disrespectfu',  sir,  but 
it  's  juist  possible  that  naither  you  nor  your  groom 
ken  the  history  o'  the  Free  Church ;  but  ye  may  be 
sure  sensible  men  and  pair  fouk  dinna  mak  sic  sacri- 
fices for  bad  temper." 

"Come  along,  then,"  and  the  factor  allowed  him- 
self to  be  merry,  "let  's  hear  a  sermon.  You 
Scotchmen  are  desperate  fellows  for  that  kind  of 
thing.  Does  the  Free  Kirk  sing  Psalms  one  way 
and  the  Established  Kirk  another?  It 's  some  stark 
nonsense,  I  know. " 

"  It  may  be  to  you,  but  it  is  not  to  us;  and  at  ony 
rate,  it  is  the  truth  accordin'  tae  ma  licht,  an'  ilka 
man  maun  gae  by  that  as  he  sail  answer  at  the 
Judgment. " 

"Don't  stand  canting  here.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  you  will  lose  your  farm,  and  see  your  family  at 
the  door  for  a  kirk?  You  can't  be  such  a  drivelling 
fool ;  and  a  fellow  of  your  age  too  !    Yes  or  no  ?  " 

"A'  hae  nae  choice,  then,  but  tae  say  No;  an' 
that's  ma  laist  word." 

"Then  you  and  the  rest  of  your  friends  will  march, 
d'  you  understand?  You  may  take  this  for  notice 
at  once  —  and  I  '11  get  some  tenants  that  have  respect 
for  —  ah  —  for  —  in  fact,  for  law  and  order." 


THE  ENDLESS  CHOICE  65 


"Ye  may  clear  the  Free  Kirk  fouk  oot  o'  Drum- 
tochty,  an'  get  new  tenants  o'  some  kind;  but  when 
ye  hae  filled  the  Glen  wi'  greedy  time-servers  his 
lordship  'ill  miss  the  men  that  coonted  their  con- 
science mair  than  their  fairms. " 

"If  you  have  quite  finished,  you  may  go,"  said  the 
factor ;  "  leaving  your 
farm  does  not  seem  to 
touch  you  much." 

"  Sir,"  replied  Burn- 
brae  with  great  solem- 
nity, "  I  pray  God  you 
may  never  have  such 
sorrow  as  you  have 
sent  on  my  house  this 
day." 

Jean  was  waiting  at 
the  top  of  the  brae  for 
her  man,  and  his  face 
told  her  the  event. 

"  Ye  maunna  be  cast  jean  waiting 

doon,  Jean,"   and  his 

voice  was  very  tender,  "an'  a'  ken  weel  ye  'ill  no  be 
angry  wi'  me." 

"Angry?"  said  Jean;  "ma  hert  failed  last  nicht 
for  a  whilie,  but  that 's  ower  noo  an'  for  ever.  John, 
a'  luvit  ye  frae  the  time  we  sat  in  the  schule 
thegither,  an'  a'  wes  a  happy  wumman  when  ye 
mairried  me. 

"A've  been  lifted  mony  a  time  when  a'  saw  how 

fouk  respeckit  ye,  and  abune  a'  when  ye  gaed  doon 

5 


66  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


the  kirk  with  the  cups  in  yir  hands  at  the  Saicra- 
ment,  for  a'  kent  ye  were  worthy. 

"Ye 're  dearer  tae  me  ilka  year  that  comes  and 
gaes,  but  a'  never  luvit  ye  as  a'  dae  this  nicht,  an' 
a'  coont  sic  a  husband  better  than  onything  God  cud 
gie  me  on  earth. " 

And  then  Jean  did  what  was  a  strange  thing  in 
Drumtochty  —  she  flung  her  arms  round  Burnbrae's 
neck  and  kissed  him. 


Ill 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE 

Drumtochty,  hoeing  the  turnips  for  the  second 
time  on  a  glorious  day  in  early  August,  saw  the 
Kildrummie  auctioneer  go  up  the  left  side  of  the 
Glen  and  down  the  right  like  one  charged  with  high 
affairs.  It  was  understood  that  Jock  Constable  could 
ride  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  horse,  and  that  after- 
noon he  had  got  ten  miles  an  hour  out  of  an  animal 
which  had  been  down  times  without  number,  and 
whose  roaring  could  be  heard  from  afar.  Jock  was 
in  such  haste  that  he  only  smacked  his  lips  as  he 
passed  our  public-house,  and  waved  his  hand  when 
Hillocks  shouted,  "  Hoo 's  a'  wi'  ye?"  from  a  neigh- 
bouring field.  But  he  dismounted  whenever  he  saw 
a  shapely  gate-post,  and  spent  five  minutes  at  the 
outer  precincts  of  the  two  churches. 

"It  'ill  be  a  roup,"  and  Hillocks  nodded  to  his 
foreman  with  an  air  of  certitude;  "a'  wunner  wha  's 
it  is;  some  Kildrummie  man,  maist  likely." 

When  the  advertising  disease  first  broke  out  in 
the  country,  a  Muirtown  grocer  with  local  connec- 
tions disfigured  our  main  road  with  his  list  of  prices, 
till  in  a  moment  of  incredible  audacity  he  affixed  a 


68  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


cheap  tea  advertisement  to  the  Parish  Kirk  door, 
and  was  understood  to  have  escaped  penal  servitude 
by  offering  an  abject  apology  to  Doctor  Davidson, 
and  contributing  ten  pounds  for  the  poor  of  the 
parish.  Constable's  announcements  were  the  only 
mural  literature  afterwards  allowed  in  the  Glen,  and 


HOEING  TURNIPS 


Jock  prided  himself  on  their  grandeur.  They  were 
headed  in  large  type  "  Displenishing  Sale,"  and 
these  imposing  words,  which  had  never  been  heard 
in  the  ordinary  speech  of  the  Glen  within  the 
memory  of  man,  were  supported  in  the  body  of 
the  document  by  "heifers,"  "fat  oxen,"  "draught 
horses,"  "agricultural  implements,"  and  "dairy 
apparatus."    Jock  had  "cereals"  in  one  bill,  but 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE  69 


yielded  to  public  feeling,  and  returned  to  "oats  and 
barley"  as  a  concession  to  the  condition  of  a  semi- 
educated  people. 

Persons  without  imagination  used  to  carp  at  the 
grand  style  and  demand  explanations,  but  short  of 
"cereals,"  Jock  carried  the  community. 

"  What  gars  Jock  aye  say  '  Displenishing  Sale  '  ?  " 
inquired  Hillocks  one  day,  after  he  had  given  ten 
minutes  to  a  bill  and  done  the  more  ambitious  words 
in  syllables.  "An'  what  dis  he  mean  by  '  heifer  '  ? 
A'  ken  the  beasts  on  Milton  as  weel  as  ma  ain,  an' 
a'  never  heard  tell  o'  '  heifer'  ootside  o'  the  Bible." 

"Ye 're  a  doited  (stupid)  body,  Hillocks,"  said 
Jamie  Soutar,  who  was  always  much  tickled  by 
Jock's  efforts;  "ye  wudna  surely  expeck  an  unction- 
eer  tae  speak  aboot  roups,  and  div  ye  think  yersel 
that  quey  soonds  as  weel  as  heifer?  Gin  ye  hed 
naething  but  oor  ain  words  on  a  post,  naebody  wud 
look  twice  at  it,  but  this  kind  o'  langidge  solemnises 
ye  an'  maks  ye  think." 

"Man  Jamie,  a'  never  thocht  o'  that,"  for  this 
argument  touched  Hillocks  closely,  "an'  a'm  no 
sayin'  but  ye  're  richt.  Jock 's  a  gabby  body  an'  no 
teared  0'  words." 

Constable  made  a  point  of  publishing  on  Saturday 
as  late  as  light  would  allow,  so  that  his  literature 
might  burst  upon  the  Glen  on  Sabbath  morning 
with  all  the  charm  of  a  surprise.  Whether  a  man 
came  east  or  west,  he  had  the  benefit  of  three  bills 
before  he  reached  the  kirk  and  settled  down  quietly 
to  the  one  on  the  right-hand  pillar  of  the  kirkyard 


70  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


gate.  Less  than  this  number  of  wayside  editions 
would  not  have  served  the  purpose,  because  there 
was  a  severe  etiquette  in  reading.  When  Whinnie 
emerged  on  the  main  road  and  caught  sight  of  "  Dis- 
plenishing  Sale,"  he  would  have  been  ashamed  to 
cross  or  show  any  indecent  curiosity.  He  only 
nodded  and  proceeded  to  settle  the  farm  in  his 
mind.  The  second  bill,  whose  geography  he  mas- 
tered without  stopping,  verified  his  conclusion  and 
left  him  free  to  run  over  in  his  mind  the  stock  and 
crops  that  would  be  offered.  A  pause  not  exceeding 
one  minute  was  allowed  for  the  head  of  the  house 
at  the  third  bill  to  detect  any  gross  mistake  in  his 
general  review,  but  the  examination  of  minute  details 
was  reserved  for  the  large  paper  edition  at  the  kirk- 
yard.  This  was  studied  from  the  first  word  to  the 
last  in  profound  silence,  but  was  rigidly  excluded 
from  direct  quotation  on  Sabbath.  When  Whinnie 
joined  the  fathers  he  only  referred  to  Milton's  roup 
as  a  rumour  that  had  reached  his  ears  and  might 
have  been  discussed  at  length  on  any  other  day. 
Drumsheugh,  waking,  as  it  were,  from  a  reverie: 
"  A'  wudna  wunner  gin  the  Milton  roup  did  come 
aff  sune  .  .  .  there  's  twa  acre  mair  neeps  than  a' 
expeckit. " 

Then  Hillocks  would  casually  remark,  as  one 
forced  into  a  distasteful  conversation,  "The  gude 
wife  keeps  ae  coo,  a'  hear;  she  'ill  be  taking  a  pen- 
dicle at  Kildrummie,  a'm  judgin',"  but  any  thorough 
treatment  was  hindered  by  circumstances. 

The  kirkyard  was  only  once  carried  beyond  itself 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE  71 


by  Jock's  bills,  and  that  was  when  he  announced 
Burnbrae's  sale. 

"Keep  's  a'  fouk,  this  is  no  lichtsome, "  was  all 
Whinnie  could  say  as  he  joined  the  group,  and  the 
boxes  were  passed  round  without  speech. 

"Weel,  weel,"  Hillocks  said  at  last,  in  the  tone 
consecrated  to  funerals,  "he  'ill  be  sair  missed." 

It  was  felt  to  be  an  appropriate  note,  and  the 
mouths  of  the  fathers  were  opened. 

"A  graund  fairmer,"  continued  Hillocks,  encour- 
aged by  the  sympathetic  atmosphere;  "he  kent  the 
verra  day  tae  sow  an'  ye  cudna  find  a  thistle  on 
Burnbrae,  no,  nor  a  docken.  Gin  we  a'  keepit  oor 
land  as  clean  it  wud  set  us  better,"  and  Hillocks 
spoke  with  the  solemnity  of  one  pointing  the  moral 
of  a  good  man's  life. 

"He  hed  a  fine  hert  tae,"  added  Whinnie,  feeling 
that  Hillocks's  eulogy  admitted  of  expansion;  "he 
cam  up  laist  summer  when  George  wes  lying  in  the 
decline,  and  he  says  tae  me,  " '  Whinnie,  yir  pasture 
is  fair  burnt  up ;  pit  yir  coos  in  ma  second  cutting : 
George  maun  hae  gude  milk, '  an'  they  fed  a'  the 
summer  in  Burnbrae's  clover.  He  didna  like  sic 
things  mentioned,  but  it  disna  maitter  noo.  Marget 
wes  awfu'  touched." 

"But  ye  cudna  ca'  Burnbrae  a  shairp  business 
man,"  said  Jamie  Soutar  critically;  "he  keepit  Jess 
Stewart  daein'  naethin'  for  five  year,  and  gared  her 
believe  she  wes  that  usefu'  he  cudna  want  her, 
because  Jess  wud  suner  hae  deed  than  gaen  on  the 
pairish. 


72  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"  As  for  puir  fouk,  he  wes  clean  redeeklus ;  there 
wesna  a  weedow  in  the  Glen  didna  get  her  seed  frae 
him  in  a  bad  year.  He  hed  abeelity  in  gaitherin', 
but  he  wes  wastefu'  in  spendin'. 

"  Hooever,  he 's  gone  noo,  an'  we  maunna  be  sayin' 
ill  o'  the  dead;  it's  no  what  he  wud  hae  dune  him- 
sel'.  Whatna  day 's  the  beerial  ?  "  inquired  Jamie, 
anxiously. 

"Beerial?  Losh  preserve 's,  Jamie,"  began  Hil- 
locks, but  Drumsheugh  understood. 

"Jamie  hes  the  richt  o't;  if  Burnbrae  hed  slippit 
awa',  yir  faces  cudna  be  langer.  He 's  no  oot  o'  the 
Glen  yet,  and  wha  kens  gin  he  mayna  beat  the  factor 
yet? 

"It 's  no  muckle  we  can  dae  in  that  quarter  but 
there  's  ae  thing  in  oor  poor.  We  can  see  that  Burn- 
brae hes  a  gude  roup,  an'  gin  he  maun  leave  us  that 
he  carries  eneuch  tae  keep  him  an'  the  gude  wife  for 
the  rest  o'  their  days. 

"There 's  a  wheen  fine  fat  cattle  and  some  gude 
young  horse;  it  wud  be  a  sin  tae  let  them  gae  below 
their  price  tae  the  Muirtown  dealers.  Na,  na,  the 
man  that  wants  tae  buy  at  Burnbrae' s  roup  'ill  need 
tae  pay." 

The  countenance  of  the  kirkyard  lifted,  and  as 
Hillocks  followed  Drumsheugh  into  kirk,  he  stopped 
twice  and  wagged  his  head  with  marked  satisfaction. 
Three  days  later  it  was  understood  at  the  "smiddy  " 
that  Burnbrae' s  roup  was  likely  to  be  a  success. 

Thursday  was  the  chosen  day  for  roups  in  our  parts, 
and  on  Monday  morning  they  began  to  make  ready 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE 


73 


at  Burnbrae.  Carts,  engrained  with  the  mud  of 
years,  were  taken  down  to  the  burn,  and  came  back 
blue  and  red.  Burnbrae  read  the  name  of  his  grand- 
father on  one  of  the  shafts,  and  noticed  it  was  Burne- 
brae  in  those  days.  Ploughs,  harrows,  rollers  were 
grouped  round  a  turnip-sowing  machine  (much  lent 


WASHING  CARTS 


to  neighbours),  and  supported  by  an  array  of  forks, 
graips,  scythes,  and  other  lighter  implements.  The 
granary  yielded  a  pair  of  fanners,  half  a  dozen  rid- 
dles, measures  for  corn,  a  pile  of  sacks,  and  some 
ancient  flails.  Harness  was  polished  till  the  brass 
ornaments  on  the  peaked  collars  and  heavy  cart 
saddles  emerged  from  obscurity,  and  shone  in  the 


74  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


sunshine.  Jean  emptied  her  dairy,  and  ranged  two 
churns,  one  her  mother's,  a  cheese-press,  and  twenty- 
four  deep  earthenware  dishes  at  the  head  of  a  field 
where  the  roup  was  to  take  place. 

"Dinna  bring  oot  yir  dairy,  Jean  wumman," 
Burnbrae  had  pleaded  in  great  distress;  "we  'ill  get 
some  bit  placy  wi'  a  field  or  twa,  and  ye  'ill  hae  a 
coo  as  lang  as  ye  live.  A'  canna  bear  tae  see  ma 
wife's  kirn  sold;  ye  mind  hoo  a'  tried  tae  help  ye 
the  first  year,  an'  ye  splashed  me  wi'  the  milk. 
Keep  the  auld  kirn,  lass." 

"  Na,  na,  John,  it  wud  juist  fret  me  tae  see  it  wi' 
nae  milk  tae  fill  it,  for  it 's  no  an  ae-coo-kirn  mine 
like  a  pendicler's  (small  farmer's),  an'  a'  wud  raither 
no  look  back  aifter  we  're  awa',"  but  Jean's  hands 
were  shaking  as  she  laid  down  the  wooden  stamp 
with  which  she  had  marked  the  best  butter  that 
went  to  Muirtown  market  that  generation. 

On  Thursday  forenoon  the  live-stock  was  gathered 
and  penned  in  the  field  below  the  garden,  where  the 
dead  lassie's  name  bloomed  in  fragrant  mignonette. 
Burnbrae  and  Jean  saw  all  their  gear,  save  the  house- 
hold furniture,  set  out  for  sale.  She  had  resolved 
to  be  brave  for  his  sake,  but  every  object  in  the  field 
made  its  own  appeal  to  her  heart.  What  one  read  in 
the  auctioneer's  catalogue  was  a  bare  list  of  animals 
and  implements,  the  scanty  plenishing  of  a  High- 
land farm.  Jean  saw  everything  in  a  golden  mist  of 
love.  It  was  a  perfectly  preposterous  old  dogcart 
that  ought  to  have  been  broken  up  long  ago,  but  how 
often  she  had  gone  in  it  to  Muirtown  on  market 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE  75 


days  with  John,  and  on  the  last  journey  he  had 
wrapped  her  up  as  tenderly  as  when  she  was  a  young 
bride.  The  set  of  silver-plated  harness  —  but  there 
was  not  much  plating  left  —  Jean  had  bought  from 
a  Muirtown  saddler  with  savings  from  her  butter 
money,  and  had  seen  the  ostler  fit  on  the  old  mare 
—  her  foal,  old  enough  himself  now,  was  to  be  sold 
to-day  —  against  John's  coming  from  the  cattle  mart. 
He  was  so  dazzled  by  the  sheen  of  the  silver  that 
he  passed  his  own  conveyance  in  the  stableyard  — 
he  never  heard  the  end  of  that  —  and  he  could  only 
shake  his  fist  at  her  when  she  came  from  her  hiding- 
place,  professing  great  astonishment.  John  might 
laugh  at  her,  but  she  saw  the  people  admiring  the 
turnout  as  they  drove  along  the  street  in  Muirtown, 
and,  though  it  took  them  three  hours  to  reach  Burn- 
brae,  the  time  was  too  short  for  the  appreciation 
of  that  harness.  It  seemed  yesterday,  but  that  was 
seven-and-twenty  year  ago. 

"  Come  intae  the  hoose,  Jean,"  said  Burnbrae,  tak- 
ing her  by  the  arm;  "it  's  ower  tryin'  for  ye;  we 
maun  hae  oor  half  oor  afore  the  roup  begins." 

Burnbrae  and  Jean  never  said  a  word  about  such 
secret  things,  and  indeed  there  was  not  in  them  a 
trace  of  Pharisee,  but  their  children  and  the  serving 
folk  knew  why  the  old  people  always  disappeared 
after  the  midday  meal. 

"It 's  a  black  shame,"  said  Bell  to  her  neighbour 
as  they  cut  up  cheese  for  the  roup,  "tae  cast  sic 
a  gude  man  oot  o'  his  hame;  deil  tak'  them  that 
dae  V 


76  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"Be  quiet,  wumman,  or  the  maister  'ill  hear  ye; 
but  ye  're  richt  aboot  whar  they  'ill  gang  for  med- 
dling wi'  the  elder  "  —  for  they  had  not  learned  the 
Shorter  Catechism  without  profit  in  Drumtochty. 
When  Burnbrae  went  out  again,  Jock  Constable 

had  arrived,  and  an  old 
mare  was  being  run  up 
and  down  the  field  at 
such  speed  as  a  limp 
allowed. 

"Keep  her  rinnin', 
laddie,"  Jock  was  shout- 
ing from  the  middle  of 
the  fat  cattle ;  "  she  'ill 
be  as  soople  as  a  three- 
year-auld  afore  the  fouk 
come." 

"  What 's  this  ye  're 
aifter  wi'  the  mare, 
Jock?  " 

"Doctoring  her  stiff- 
ness,   Burnbrae;  it 
wears  aff  as  sune  as  she  gets  warm,  and  the  fouk 
micht  as  weel  see  her  at  her  best. 

"It 'ill  pit  a  five-pund  note  on  her,"  continued 
Jock,  "an'  a'm  no  tae  gie  a  warranty  wi'  onything 
the  day. 

"Man,  hoo  did  ye  no  get  the  wricht  tae  gie  those 
cairts  a  lick  o'  pent?  They  did  it  at  Pitfoodles,  and 
there  wes  an  auld  corn  cairt  went  aff  for  new." 

"Ye  may  dae  what  ye  like  at  Pitfoodles,  but  ye  '11 


CUTTING  UP  CHEESE 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE 


77 


play  nae  tricks  here,  Jock,"  and  Burnbrae's  eye  had 
a  dangerous  gleam;  "gin  ye  dinna  tell  the  fouk  that 
the  mare  hes  a  titch  o'  '  grease  '  on  her  aff  hind-leg, 
a'll  dae  it  masel. " 

Jock  was  much  dashed,  for  he  had  intended  some 
other  legitimate  improvements,  and  he  carried  his 
wrongs  to  Drumsheugh. 

"There's  sic  a  thing  as  bein'  ower  gude,  an'  a' 
dinna  see  ony  use  in  startin'  this  roup;  he  micht  as 
weel  fling  awa'  his  gear  tae  the  first  bidder.  Wull 
ye  believe  it,"  said  Jock,  in  bitterness  of  soul,  "that 
he  hesna  providit  a  drop  o'  speerits,  an'  is  gaein' 
tae  offer  the  fouk  tea  an'  lime-juice  —  lime-juice," 
and  Jock  dwelt  on  the  word  with  scathing  scorn. 

"Did  ye  ever  hear  o'  a  roup  comin'  aff  on  sic  like 
drink?  It's  fifteen  year  sin  a'  took  tae  the  unc- 
tioncerin'  trade,  an'  a'  tell  ye  nae  man  'ill  gie  a 
bid  worth  mentionin'  till  he  \s  hed  his  tastin',  an' 
there  's  nae  spunk  afore  the  third  gless. 

"  Noo  there  wes  Pitfoodles  roup,"  exclaimed  Jock, 
harking  back  to  high-water  mark;  "if  a'  didna  send 
roond  the  glesses  sax  times,  an'  afore  a'  wes  ower 
Lochlands  bocht  a  geizened  (leaky)  water-cairt  with- 
oot  wheels  for  aucht  pund  twal  shillings,  an'  it  's 
lying  at  Pitfoodles  till  this  day.  Ye 'ill  no  see  a 
roup  like  that  twice  in  a  generation.  Lime-juice  — 
it 's  a  clean  temptin'  o'  Providence." 

"  Ye  needna  get  in  a  feery-farry  (commotion), 
Jock,"  said  Drumsheugh,  eyeing  the  little  man 
severely;  "the  'ill  be  nae  call  for  speerits  the  day. 
A'm  no  a  jidge  o'  lime-juice  masel,  but  it  'ill  dae  as 


78  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


weel  as  onything  else,  or  water  itsel'  for  that 
maitter. 

"  Pitfoodles !  Man,  it 'ill  no  be  mentioned  wi' 
the  prices  ye  'ill  get  at  Burnbrae,  or  a'  dinna  ken 
Drumtochty. " 

"  Div  ye  mean  that  Drumtochty 's  gaein'  tae  stand 
in?  "  said  Jock,  much  cheered. 

"  A'  mean  what  a'  say,  an'  the  suner  ye  begin  the 
better.  Ye  'ill  be  takin'  the  potatoes  first,"  and  the 
gait  of  Drumsheugh  as  he  moved  off  was  that  of  a 
general  on  the  morning  of  battle. 

The  dealers  from  Muirtown  and  outlying  strangers 
from  Kildrummie  bore  themselves  after  the  time- 
honoured  manners  of  a  roup  —  a  fine  blend  of  jocose 
gaiety  and  business  curiosity;  but  the  Glen  and 
stragglers  from  the  upper  districts  were  not  in  a 
roup  mood,  and  seemed  to  have  something  on  their 
minds.  They  greeted  Burnbrae  respectfully,  and 
took  a  spare  refreshment  with  marked  solemnity. 
Their  very  faces  chilled  Jock  when  he  began  opera- 
tions, and  reduced  to  hopeless  confusion  an  opening 
joke  he  had  prepared  on  the  way  from  Kildrummie. 
This  severity  was  hard  on  Jock,  for  he  was  under- 
stood to  have  found  his  role  in  auctioneering,  and 
a  roup  was  the  great  day  of  his  life.  He  was  marked 
out  for  his  office  by  the  fact  that  he  had  been  twice 
bankrupt  as  a  farmer,  and  by  a  gift  of  speech  which 
bordered  on  the  miraculous.  There  were  times 
when  he  was  so  carried  on  political  questions  in  the 
Muirtown  Inn  that  the  meat  flew  from  the  end  of 
his  fork,  and  a  Drumtochty  man,  with  an  under- 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE 


stood  reference  to  Jock's  eloquence,  could  only  say 
"  Sail  "  at  the  Junction,  to  which  another  would 
reply,  "He's  an  awfu'  wratch. "  This  tribute  to 
Jock's  power  rested,  as  is  evident,  less  on  the 
exact  terms  of  the  eulogy  than  on  his  monopoly  of 
the  Drumtochty  imagination  for  two  hours.  His 
adroitness  in  throwing  strong  points  into  relief  and 
infirmities  into  the  shade,  as  well  as  his  accurate 
knowledge  of  every  man's  farming  affairs  and  his 
insight  into  their  peculiarities  as  buyers,  were 
almost  Satanic.  People  who  did  not  intend  to  buy, 
and  would  have  received  no  credit  if  they  had,  went 
to  hear  Jock  selling  a  horse,  and  left  fully  re- 
warded. Indeed,  if  Whinnie  suddenly  chuckled  on 
the  way  home,  and  did  not  proceed  farther  than  "It 
cowes  a',"  he  was  understood  to  be  chewing  the  cud 
of  Jock's  humour,  and  was  excused  from  impossible 
explanations. 

Jock  referred  to  the  Burnbrae  roup  as  long  as  he 
lived,  and  gave  incidents  with  dramatic  force  in  the 
train,  but  every  one  knows  he  had  nothing  to  do 
with  its  success. 

"  Ye  needna  waste  time  speaking  the  day,  Jock," 
Drumsheugh  advised  before  they  began  on  the  pota- 
toes; "pit  up  the  articles,  and  we  'ill  see  tae  the 
bids."  Which  Drumtochty  did  without  one  slack 
moment,  from  the  potatoes,  which  fetched  one  pound 
an  acre  more  than  had  been  known  in  the  parish,  to 
a  lot  of  old  iron  which  a  Kildrummie  blacksmith 
got  at  something  under  cost  price.  People  hesitated 
to  award  praise  where  all  had  done  well,  but  the 


8o  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


obstinacy  of  Hillocks,  which  compelled  a  Muirtown 
horse-dealer  to  give  forty-two  pounds  for  a  young 
horse,  and  Whinnie's  part  in  raising  the  prices  for 
fat  cattle,  are  still  mentioned.  When  Jock  came 
down  from  his  table  in  the  field,  he  was  beyond 
speech,  and  Drumtochty  regarded  Drumsheugh  with 
unfeigned  admiration. 

"  Gude  nicht  tae  ye,  Burnbrae,"  said  that  great 
man,  departing;  "if  ye  hae  tae  gang  it  'ill  no  be 
empty-handed,"  and  although  Burnbrae  did  not 
understand  all,  he  knew  that  his  neighbours  had 
stood  by  him  without  stint  that  day. 

For  an  hour  the  buyers  were  busy  conveying  away 
their  goods,  till  at  last  the  farm  had  been  stripped 
of  all  the  animal  life  that  had  made  it  glad,  and 
those  familiar  articles  that  were  each  a  link  with 
the  past.  Burnbrae  wandered  through  the  staring 
sheds,  the  silent  stable,  the  empty  granary,  and  then 
he  bethought  him  of  his  wife.  When  her  kirn  was 
put  up  he  had  been  moved  by  a  sudden  emotion  and 
bought  it  back,  and  he  saw  her  face  for  an  instant 
between  the  bushes  of  the  garden.  Where  was 
Jean  ?  He  sought  her  in  the  house,  in  the  garden, 
and  could  not  find  her.  Then  he  heard  the  rattle  of 
a  chain  in  one  of  the  byres,  and  understood.  Jean's 
favourite  cow  had  been  kept,  and  she  was  sitting  in 
the  stall  with  her,  as  one  left  desolate.  When  Burn- 
brae entered,  Brownie  turned  her  head  and  looked  at 
him  with  an  intelligent  understanding  in  her  soft, 
motherly  eyes. 

"She  's  a'  that  's  left  o'  ma  byre,"  and  Jean  burst 


A  DISPLENISHING  SALE 


81 


into  a  passion  of  weeping.  "  Ye  mind  hoo  they  deed 
in  the  rinder-pest  ane  by  ane,  and  were  buried;  juist 
Brownie  cam  through,  and  noo  she  's  alane  again. 

"That  wes  the  judgment  o'  the  Almichty,  and  we 
daurna  complain,  but  this  wes  the  doin'  o'  man,  an' 
ma  hert  is  bitter. 

"  A'  the  beasts  a'  reared,  an'  the  gear  we  githered, 
a'  sold  and  carried  off,  till  there  's  nae  soond  heard 
in  the  hooses,  nae  wark  tae  dae. " 

Burnbrae  sat  down  and  flung  his  arm  round  her,  and 
as  the  two  old  heads  were  bent  together,  the  gentle  an- 
imal beside  them  missed  her  companions  and  moaned. 

After  a  while  Burnbrae  began, — 

"It 's  a  shairp  trial,  wife,  an'  hard  tae  bear.  But 
dinna  forget  oor  mercies.  We  hae  oor  fower  laddies 
left  us,  an'  a'  daein'  weel. 

"  We  oucht  tae  be  thankfu'  that  Sandie 's  been  kept 
in  the  battle.  Think  o'  yir  son  winnin'  the  Victoria 
Cross,  wumman,  an'  ye  'ill  see  it  on  his  breist. 

"An'  oor  lassie  's  safe,  Jean  ...  in  the  Auld 
Hame,  an'  .  .  .  we  'ill  sune  be  gaein'  oorsels  an' 
.  .  .  the  'ill  be  nae  pairtin'  there. 

"  Ye  hae  me,  Jean,  an'  a'  hae  ma  ain  gude  wife,  an' 
luve  is  mair  than  a'  the  things  a  man  can  see  wi'  his 
een  or  hand  in  his  hands.  Sae  dinna  be  cast  doon, 
lass,  for  nae  hand  can  touch  oor  treasures  or  tak' 
awa'  oor  luve. '  " 

When  Jean  was  comforted,  Burnbrae  gathered  his 
household  together  in  the  kitchen,  and  he  chose 
the  portion  from  the  tenth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's 
Gospel, — 

6 


82  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"Whosoever  therefore  shall  confess  Me  before 
men,  him  will  I  confess  also  before  my  Father  which 
is  in  heaven." 

As  Burnbrae  read  the  last  words  he  lifted  up  his 
head,  and  it  seemed  even  unto  the  serving  girls  as  if 
he  had  received  a  crown. 


IV 


THE  APPEAL  TO  OESAR 

They  had  the  right  to  occupy  their  old  home  till 
Martinmas,  but  Jean  had  begun  to  fret,  wandering 
through  the  empty  "  houses  "  and  brooding  over  the 
coming  trial. 

"A'  canna  help  it,  John;  the  Almichty  made  a 
woman  different  from  a  man,  an'  the  'ill  be  nae 
peace  for  me  till  we  be  oot  o'  Burnbrae. 

"  Ma  wark  here  's  feenished,  an'  it  's  no  like  hame 
ony  mair.  A'  wish  the  flittin'  were  ower  an'  you  an' 
me  were  settled  whar  we  'ill  end  oor  days." 

Burnbrae  had  found  a  little  place  near  Kildrummie 
that  would  leave  him  within  reach  of  his  kirk,  which 
he  had  loved  at  a  great  cost,  and  his  old  neighbours, 
to  whom  he  was  knit  with  new  ties. 

"The  Word  can  come  onywhere  tae  the  hert,  an' 
the  angel  o'  His  Presence  'ill  aye  be  wi'  us,  Jean, 
but  there  's  nae  place  whar  the  Evangel  'ill  ever 
soond  sae  sweet  as  in  the  Free  Kirk  o'  Drumtochty. 

" We  'ill  traivel  up  as  lang  as  we're  able,  and 
see  oor  friends  aince  a  week.  It 'ill  dae  us  gude, 
wumman,  tae  get  a  handshak  frae  Netherton  and 
Donald  Menzies,  an'  Lachlan  himsel,  though  he 


84  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

be  a  stiff  chiel "  (for  this  was  before  the  trans- 
formation). 

"  Forbye  the  Auld  Kirk  folk,  for  a'  dinna  deny, 
Jean,  aifter  a'  that 's  happened,  that  it  'ill  be  pleas- 
ant tae  meet  them  comin'  wast,  wi'  Drumsheugh  at 
their  head. 

"Ma  hert 's  warm  tae  a'body  in  the  Glen,  and  a' 

ken  they  'ill  no  forget 
us,  Jean,  in  oor  bit 
hoosie  at  Kildrummie. " 

One  Thursday  after- 
noon —  the  flitting  was 
to  be  on  Monday  ■ — 
Burnbrae  came  upon 
Jean  in  the  garden,  dig- 
ging up  plants  and  pack- 
ing them  tenderly  with 
wide  margins  of  their 
native  earth. 

"A'    cudna  leave 
them,  John,  an'  they  'ill 
mak   oor  new  gairden 
j  e  annie  mair   hame-like.  The 

pinks  are  cuttin's  a'  set 
masel,  an'  the  fuchsias  tae,  an'  Jeannie  carried 
the  can  and  watered  them  that  simmer  afore  she 
deed. 

"When  Peter  Robertson  wes  warnin'  us  no  tae 
meddle  wi'  ony  fixture  for  fear  o'  the  factor,  a'  askit 
him  aboot  the  floors,  an'  he  said,  '  Gin  a'  hed  plantit 
them  masel,  they  micht  be  lifted. '     Gude  kens  a' 


JEAN  IN  THE  GARDEN 


THE  APPEAL  TO  GESAR  87 


did,  every  ane,  though  it  's  no  mony  we  can  tak; 
but  preserve  's,  wha 's  yon?  " 

It  was  not  needful  to  ask,  for  indeed  only  one  man 
in  the  parish  could  walk  with  such  grave  and  stately 
dignity,  and  that  because  his  father  and  grandfather 
had  been  parish  ministers  before  him. 

"This  is  rael  neeburly,  Doctor,  an'  like  yersel  tae 
come  up  afore  we  left  the  auld  place.  Ye  're  wel- 
come at  Burnbrae  as  yir  father  wes  in  ma  father's 
day.    Ye  heard  that  we  're  flittin'  on  Monday?" 

"  You  're  not  away  yet,  Burnbrae,  you  're  not  away 
yet;  it 's  not  so  easy  to  turn  out  a  Drumtochty  man 
as  our  English  factor  thought:  we're  a  stiff  folk, 
and  our  roots  grip  fast. 

"  He  was  to  rule  this  parish,  and  he  was  to  do  as 
he  pleased  with  honest  men;  we  '11  see  who  comes 
off  best  before  the  day  is  done,"  and  the  doctor 
struck  his  stick,  the  stick  of  office  with  the  golden 
head,  on  the  gravel  in  triumph. 

"  You 've  just  come  in  time,  Mrs.  Baxter  "  —  for 
Jean  had  been  putting  herself  in  order —  "for  I 
want  to  give  you  a  bit  of  advice.  Do  not  lift  any 
more  of  your  plants  —  it's  bad  for  their  growth ;  and 
I  rather  think  you  '11  have  to  put  them  back." 

Jean  came  close  to  Burnbrae's  side,  and  watched 
the  doctor  without  breathing  while  he  placed  the 
stick  against  a  bush,  and  put  on  his  eye-glasses  with 
deliberation,  and  opened  out  a  telegram  and  read 
aloud  :  "  '  Paris.  Your  letter  found  me  at  last;  leave 
London  for  home  Thursday  morning;  tell  Burnbrae 
to  meet  me  in  Muirtown  on  Friday.    Kilspindie. ' 


88  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"  My  letter  went  to  Egypt  and  missed  him,  but 
better  late  than  never,  Burnbrae  .  .  .  that 's  a  won- 
derful plant  you  have  there,  Mrs.  Baxter,"  and  he 
turned  aside  to  study  a  hydrangea  Jean  had  set 
out  in  the  sun;  for  with  all  his  pompous  and  auto- 
cratic ways,  the  doctor  was  a  gentleman  of  the 
old  school. 

When  he  departed  and  Jean  had  settled  down, 
Burnbrae  thought  it  wise  to  moderate  her  joy  lest  it 
should  end  in  bitter  disappointment. 

"The  doctor  hes  dune  his  pairt,  and  it  wes  kind 
o'  him  tae  come  up  himsel  ane  's  errand  tae  tell  us. 
Ye  didna  see  his  face  aifter  he  read  the  message, 
but  it  wes  worth  seein'.  There 's  no  a  soonder  hert 
in  the  Glen. 

"A'  kunt  this  thing  wudna  hae  happened  gin  his 
lordship  hed  been  at  hame,  an'  a'm  thinkin'  he  wud 
dae  his  best  tae  repair  it. 

"Maybe  he  'ill  gie 's  the  first  chance  o'  a  vacant 
fairm,  but  a'  doot  we  maun  leave  Burnbrae;  they 
say  'at  it 's  as  gude  as  let  tae  a  Netheraird  man." 

"  Dinna  say  that,  John,  for  it 's  no  anither  fairm, 
it 's  Burnbrae  a'  want.  A'll  be  watchin'  the  morn- 
in's  evening  when  ye  come  up  the  road,  an'  a'll  see 
ye  turnin'  the  corner.  Ye  '11  wave  yir  airm  tae  me 
gin  a'  be  richt,  an'  Jeannie's  floors  'ill  be  back  in 
their  beds  afore  ye  be  hame. " 

When  Burnbrae  appeared  at  Kildrummie  station 
next  morning,  Drumtochty,  who  happened  to  be 
there  in  force  on  their  last  Muirtown  visit  before 
harvest,  compassed  him  with  observances,  putting 


THE  APPEAL  TO  CESAR  89 


him  in  the  corner  seat,  and  emphasising  his  terri- 
torial designation. 

"That  wes  michty  news  aboot  the  Sergeant,  Burn- 
brae,"  began  Jamie  Soutar;  "it  spiled  a  nicht's 
sleep  tae  me  readin'  hoo  he  stude  ower  the  Colonel 
and  keepit  the  Afghans  at  bay  till  the  regiment  ral- 
lied.    Wes  't  four  or  sax  he  focht  single-handed  ?  " 


IN  MUIRTOWN 


"  He  barely  mentioned  the  maitter  in  his  letters, 
but  his  captain  wrote  tae  the  gude  wife,  which  wes 
rael  thochtfu' ;  he  made  it  sax,  an'  he  said  the  regi- 
ment wes  prood  o'  Sandie. "  For  an  instant  Burnbrae 
drew  himself  up  in  his  corner,  and  then  he  added, 
"But  it 's  no  for  his  father  tae  be  speakin'  this  wy. 
Sandie  did  naethin'  but  his  duty." 


90  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 

"For  doonricht  leein',"  said  Jamie  meditatively, 
"a'  never  kent  the  marra  (equal)  o'  thae  London 
papers;  they  made  oot  that  Sandie  wes  a  hero,  and 
we  cleaned  the  Muirtown  book-stall  lest  Friday  a 
week.  A'  never  saw  the  Kildrummie  train  in  sic 
speerits ;  it 's  awfu'  hoo  country  fouk  are  deceived. " 

"  Piggie  Walker  cam  up  on  Monday  "  (Hillocks 
seemed  to  be  addressing  some  person  above  Burn 
brae's  head),  "and  he  wes  tellin'  me  they  hed  a 
by-ordinar'  sermon  frae  the  student.  '  A'  wished 
Burnbrae  hed  been  there,'  Piggie  said;  '  he  wes 
boond  tae  be  lifted.  He  'ill  sune  hae  a  kirk,  yon 
lad,  an'  a  gude  ane. '  Piggie  's  a  body,  but  he's 
coonted  the  best  jidge  o'  sermons  in  Kildrummie." 

Drumsheugh  alone  did  not  join  in  those  kindly 
efforts,  but  struck  out  a  manner  of  his  own,  chuck- 
ling twice  without  relevancy,  and  once  growing  so 
red  that  Hillocks  ran  over  his  family  history  to 
estimate  the  risk  of  a  "seizure." 

"Is  that  you,  Burnbrae?  Come  in,  man;  come 
in.  It  's  a  pleasure  to  see  a  Drumtochty  face  again 
after  those  foreign  fellows,"  and  Lord  Kilspindie 
gripped  his  tenant's  hand  in  the  factor's  office. 
"  Sit  down  and  give  me  all  your  news. 

"The  'ill  be  no  speaking  to  Mrs.  Baxter  now  after 
this  exploit  of  the  Sergeant's!  When  I  read  it  on 
my  way  home  I  was  as  proud  as  if  he  had  been  my 
own  son.  It  was  a  gallant  deed,  and  well  deserves 
the  Cross.  He  'ill  be  getting  his  commission  some 
day.  Lieutenant  Baxter!  That  'ill  stir  the  Glen, 
eh? 


THE  APPEAL  TO  C^SAR  91 


"  But  what  is  this  I  hear  of  your  leaving  Burnbrae  ? 
I  don't  like  losing  old  tenants,  and  I  thought  you 
would  be  the  last  to  flit." 

"  Did  the  factor  not  tell  you,  my  Lord  " 

"  I 've  only  seen  him  for  five  minutes,  and  he  said 
it  had  nothing  to  do  with  rent ;  it  was  some  religious 
notion  or  other.     Is  that  so?  " 

"The  fairm  is  worth  thirty  pund  mair  rent,  an'  a' 
wud  hae  paid  saxty  rather  than  leave  my  auld  hame ; 
but  the  factor  made  it  a  condeetion  tae  gie  up  ma 
kirk." 

"  Well,  Burnbrae,  I  never  thought  you  would 
have  left  me  for  a  matter  of  kirks.  Could  you  not 
have  stretched  a  point  for  auld  lang  syne?  "  and 
Kilspindie  looked  hard  at  the  old  man. 

"Ma  Lord,  there 's  naething  a'  wudna  hae  dune  to 
stay  in  Burnbrae  but  this  ae  thing.  Ye  hae  been  a 
gude  landlord  tae  me  as  the  auld  Earl  wes  tae  ma 
father,  an'  it  'ill  never  be  the  same  tae  me  again  on 
anither  estate ;  but  ye  maunna  ask  me  tae  gang  back 
on  ma  conscience. " 

The  tears  came  to  Burnbrae' s  eyes,  and  he  rose  to 
his  feet. 

"A'  thocht,"  he  said,  "when  yir  message  cam, 
that  maybe  ye  hed  anither  mind  than  yir  factor,  and 
wud  send  me  back  tae  Jean  wi'  guid  news  in  ma 
mooth. 

"  Gin  it  be  yir  wull  that  we  flit,  a' 11  mak  nae  mair 
complaint,  an'  there 's  nae  bitterness  in  ma  hert. 
But  a'  wud  like  ye  tae  ken  that  it  'ill  be  a  sair 
pairtin'. 


92  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"For  twa  hundred  years  an'  mair  there  's  been  a 
Baxter  at  Burnbrae  and  a  Hay  at  Kilspindie;  ane 
wes  juist  a  workin'  farmer,  an'  the  ither  a  belted 
earl,  but  gude  freends  an'  faithfu',  an',  ma  Lord, 
Burnbrae  wes  as  dear  tae  oor  fouk  as  the  castle  wes 
tae  yours. 

"A'  mind  that  day  the  Viscount  cam  o'  age,  an* 
we  gaithered  tae  wush  him  weel,  that  a'  saw  the 
pictures  o'  the  auld  Hays  on  yir  walls,  an'  thocht 
hoo  mony  were  the  ties  that  bund  ye  tae  yir  hame. 

"We  haena  pictures  nor  gouden  treasures,  but 
there  's  an  auld  chair  at  oor  fireside,  an'  a'  saw  ma 
grandfather  in  it  when  a'  wes  a  laddie  at  the  schule, 
an'  a'  mind  him  tellin'  me  that  his  grandfather  hed 
sat  in  it  lang  afore.  It 's  no  worth  muckle,  an'  it 's 
been  often  mended,  but  a' 11  no  like  tae  see  it  carried 
oot  frae  Burnbrae. 

"There  is  a  Bible,  tae,  that  hes  come  doon,  father 
tae  son,  frae  1690,  and  ilka  Baxter  hes  written  his 
name  in  it,  an'  'farmer  at  Burnbrae,'  but  it  'ill  no 
be  dune  again,  for  oor  race  'ill  be  awa'  frae  Burnbrae 
for  ever. 

"Be  patient  wi'  me,  ma  Lord,  for  it's  the  lest 
time  we  're  like  tae  meet,  an'  there 's  anither  thing 
a'  want  tae  say,  for  it  's  heavy  on  ma  hert. 

"When  the  factor  told  me  within  this  verra  room 
that  we  maun  leave,  he  spoke  o'  me  as  if  a'  hed  been 
a  lawless  man,  an'  it  cut  me  mair  than  ony  ither 
word. 

"Ma  Lord,  it's  no  the  men  that  fear  their  God 
that  'ill  brak  the  laws,  an'  a'  ken  nae  Baxter  that 


THE  APPEAL  TO  OESAR  95 


wes  ither  than  a  loyal  man  tae  his  King  and 
country. 

"  Ma  uncle  chairged  wi'  the  Scots  Greys  at  Water- 
loo, and  a'  mind  him  tellin',  when  a'  wes  a  wee 
laddie,  hoo  the  Hielanders  cried  oot,  '  Scotland  for 
ever, '  as  they  passed. 

"  I  needna  tell  ye  aboot  ma  brither,  for  he  wes 
killed  by  yir  side  afore  Sebastopol,  and  the  letter 
ye  send  tae  Burnbrae  is  keepit  in  that  Bible  for  a 
heritage. 

"A'll  mention  naethin'  aither  o'  ma  ain  laddie, 
for  ye  've  said  mair  than  wud  be  richt  for  me,  but 
we  coont  it  hard  that  when  oor  laddie  hes  shed  his 
blude  like  an  honest  man  for  his  Queen,  his  auld 
father  and  mither  sud  be  driven  frae  the  hame  their 
forbears  hed  for  seeven  generations." 

Lord  Kilspindie  rose  to  his  feet  at  the  mention  of 
Sebastopol,  and  now  went  over  to  the  window  as 
one  who  wished  to  hide  his  face. 

"Dinna  be  angry  with  me,  ma  Lord,  nor  think 
a'm  boastin',  but  a  '  cudna  thole  that  ye  sud  think 
me  a  lawbreaker,  wha  cared  na ither  for  kirk  nor 
commonweal,"  and  still  his  lordship  did  not 
move. 

"  It  gaes  tae  ma  hert  that  we  sud  pairt  in  anger, 
an'  if  a've  said  mair  than  a'  oucht,  it  wes  in  sorrow, 
for  a'll  never  forget  hoo  lang  ma  fouk  hae  lived  on 
yir  land,  and  hoo  gude  ye  hae  been  tae  me,"  and 
Burnbrae  turned  to  the  door. 

"You're  the  dullest  man  in  all  Drumtochty," 
cried  Kilspindie,  wheeling  round  —  one  might  have 


96  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


fancied  .  .  .  but  that  is  absurd  —  "and  the  truest. 
Did  you  think  that  a  Hay  would  let  a  Baxter  go  for 
all  the  kirks  that  ever  were  built  ?  You  supposed 
that  I  wanted  you  to  play  the  knave  for  your  farm, 
and  this  was  the  news  you  were  to  carry  home  to 
Jean;  it's  too  bad  of  you,  Burnbrae. " 

"Ma  Lord,  a'  ...  ye  ken  " 

"It's  all  right,  and  I'm  only  joking;  and  the 
play  was  carried  on  a  bit  too  long  for  both  of  us,  but 
I  wanted  to  hear  your  own  mind  upon  this  matter," 
and  Kilspindie  called  for  the  factor. 

"  Is  the  Burnbrae  lease  drawn  up  ?  " 

"  It  is,  at  an  advance  of  sixty  pounds,  and  I  've 
got  a  man  who  will  sign  it,  and  says  he  will  give  no 
trouble  about  kirks;  in  fact,  he'll  just  do  ...  ah 
.  .  .  well,  whatever  we  tell  him." 

"Quite  so;  most  satisfactory  sort  of  man.  Then 
you  '11  reduce  the  rent  to  the  old  figure,  and  put  in 
the  name  of  John  Baxter,  and  let  it  be  for  the  long- 
est period  we  ever  give  on  the  estate." 

"But,  Lord  Kilspindie  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  did  you 
know  ■ " 

"Do  as  I  command  you  without  another  word," 
and  his  lordship  was  fearful  to  behold.  "Bring  the 
lease  here  in  ten  minutes,  and  place  it  in  Mr. 
Baxter's  hands.  What  I 've  got  to  say  to  you  will 
keep  till  afterwards. 

"Sit  down,  old  friend,  sit  down;  ...  it  was  my 
blame.  ...  I  ought  to  be  horse-whipped.  .  .  . 
Drink  a  little  water.  You  're  better  now.  .  .  .  I  '11 
go  and  see  that  fellow  has  no  tricks  in  the  condi- 


THE  APPEAL  TO  C^SAR  97 


tions. "  But  he  heard  Burnbrae  say  one  word  to 
himself,  and  it  was  "Jean. " 

"There  are  mony  things  a'  wucl  like  tae  say,  ma 
Lord,"  said  Burnbrae  before  he  left,  "but  a  full 
hert  maks  few  words.     Gin  lifting  a  dark  cloud  aff 
the  life  o'  a  fam-  f— 
ily  an'  fillin'  twa 
auld  fouk  wi'  joy 
'ill  gie  ony  man 
peace,  ye  'ill  sleep 
soond   this  nicht 
in  yir  castle. 

"  When  ye  pass 
below  Burnbrae 
on  yir  way  to  the 
Lodge  and  see  the 
smoke  curl  in'  up 
through  the  trees, 
ye  'ill  ken  a  fami- 
ly 's  livin'  there 
that  bless  yir 
name,  and  will 
mention  it  in  their 
prayers. " 

The  first  man 
B  u  r  nbrae  met 

when  he  came  out  with  the  lease  in  his  pocket  was 
Drumsheugh,  whose  business  that  particular  day  had 
kept  him  wandering  up  and  down  the  street  for 
nearly  an  hour. 

"Keep's  a',  Burnbrae,  is  that  you?  a'  thocht  ye 

7 


THE  LODGE 


98  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


were  dune  wi'  that  office  noo.  It 's  a  puir  market 
the  day;  the  dealers  are  getting  the  fat  cattle  for 
naethin'."  But  Drumsheugh's  manner  had  lost  its 
calm  finish. 

"Ave  something  tae  tell,"  said  Burnbrae,  "an' 
ye  sud  be  the  first  tae  hear  it.  Lord  Kilspindie 's 
hame  again,  and  hes  settled  me  and  mine  in  the 
auld  place  for  a  tack  that  'ill  laist  ma  days  and 
descend  tae  ma  son  aifter  me. 

"This  hes  been  a  shairp  trial,  and  there  were 
times  a'  wes  feared  ma  faith  micht  fail;  but  it's 
ower  noo,  and  there 's  twa  men  Jean  an'  me  'ill 
remember  wi'  gratitude  till  we  dee;  ane  is  Doctor 
Davidson,  an'  the  ither  is  yersel.  Ye  brocht  us 
through  atween  ye." 

"Come  awa'  this  meenut  tae  the  'Kilspindie 
Airms, '"  and  Drumsheugh  seized  Burnbrae;  "a' 
ken  ye  wunna  taste,  but  a' 11  dae  it  for  ye;  and  ye 
'ill  eat,  at  ony  rate,"  and  Drumsheugh,  who  was 
supposed  to  dine  in  secret  places  at  not  more  than 
a  shilling,  ordered  a  dinner  fit  for  Lord  Kilspindie. 
He  did  his  best  to  get  full  value  for  his  money,  but 
before  and  after,  and  between  the  courses,  he  let 
himself  go  at  large. 

"Ane  and  twenty  year  at  a  hundred  and  auchty 
pund;  man,  ye  'ill  have  eneuch  tae  stock  a  fairm  for 
Jamie  and  furnish  the  student's  manse. 

"His  lordship  wes  lang  o'  comin'  hame,  but,  ma 
certes,  he 's  pit  things  richt  when  he  did  come. 
It 's  naethin'  short  o'  handsome,  an'  worthy  o'  the 
Earl. 


THE  APPEAL  TO  C^SAR  99 


"Me,"  resumed  Drumsheugh,  "a'  hed  naethin' 
tae  dae  wi't;  it  wes  the  doctor's  letter  'at  did  the 
business;  here's  tae  his  health;  is  yir  soda  water 
dune  yet? 

"  The  factor  tried  tae  mak  licht  o'  him  that  day, 
an'  spak  as  if  he  wes  abune  a'body  in  Drumtochty; 
he  threatened  the  minister  tae  his  face;  a'  herd  him, 
the  upsettin',  ill-mannered  wratch. 

Dinna  be  cast  doon, '  says  the  doctor  tae  me 
ootside ;  '  ye  hevna  seen  the  end  o'  this  game. '  The 
man  disna  live  'at  can  beat  the  doctor  when  his 
birse  is  up,  an'  a'  never  saw  him  sae  roosed  afore. 

"Whar 's  the  factor  noo?  "  burst  out  Drumsheugh 
afresh.  "Man,  a'  wud  hae  liked  tae  see  him  when 
he  brocht  in  the  lease.  'I  wes  here  before  ye,  and 
I  will  be  here  aifter  ye,'  said  the  doctor.  It  'ill 
come  true;  a'  gie  the  factor  a  month,  no  anither 
week. 

"It's  wersh  drink  ye  hae,  but  dinna  spare  it. 
This  is  no  an  ordinar'  day.  A'  wish  we  were  at 
the  Junction." 

Drumsheugh  restrained  himself  till  the  Dunleith 
train  had  fairly  gone  —  for  he  knew  better  than  to 
anticipate  an  occasion  —  and  then  he  gathered 
Drumtochty  round  him. 

"  Ye  herd  that  the  factor  ordered  Burnbrae  tae 
leave  his  kirk,  weel,  it  'ill  be  a  while  or  he  meddle 
wi'  anither  man;  an'  Burnbrae  wes  tae  be  turned 
oot  o'  his  fairm,  it 's  the  factor,  a'm  judgin',  an' 
no  Burnbrae,  'at  'ill  need  tae  seek  a  hame;  an'  the 
factor  wudna  gie  a  lease  for  fifteen  year,  he  's  hed 


ioo  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


tae  mak  it  oot  for  ane  and  twenty ;  an'  he  wudna  tak 
a  rack  rent  o'  saxty  pund  increase  tae  let  Burnbrae 
bide  in  his  hoose,  an'  his  lordship  'ill  no  tak  a 
penny  mair  than  the  auld  rent.  That  's  ma  news, 
fouk,  an'  it 's  the  best  a've  herd  for  mony  a  day." 

Then  they  all  shook  hands  with  Burnbrae,  from 
Netherton  to  Peter  Bruce,  and  they  called  in  an 
outer  fringe  of  Kildrummie  to  rejoice  with  them; 
but  Burnbrae  could  only  say : 

"  Thank  ye,  freends,  frae  ma  hert;  ye 've  been 
gude  neeburs  tae  me  and  mine." 

"It 's  been  a  michty  victory,"  said  Jamie  Soutar,  as 
they  moved  to  the  third,  "but  a'  can  see  drawbacks." 

"Ay,  ay,"  which  was  a  form  of  inquiry  with 
Hillocks. 

"  Naebody  'ill  be  able  tae  tell  a  lee  or  play  a  Judas 
trick  in  Drumtochty  for  the  space  of  a  generation." 


V 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE 

When  Hillocks  arrived  at  the  kirkyard  on  the  Sab- 
bath after  Caesar's  judgment,  he  found  Jamie  Soutar 
removing  the  last  trace  of  Burnbrae's  Displenishing 
Sale  from  the  pillars  of  the  gate. 

It  was  the  fragment  with  "John  Baxter,  outgoing 
tenant,"  and  Jamie  was  careful  to  preserve  it  entire. 

"It  'ill  be  a  relic,"  he  explained  afterwards  to 
the  fathers,  who  were  tasting  the  occasion  in  a  preg- 
nant silence,  "like  a  Russian  gun  frae  Alma. 
We  'ill  no  see  anither  fecht  like  it  in  oor  day. 

"Jock  wes  a  wee  hasty  wi'  his  '  out-going,'  but  ye 
cudna  expect  a  Kildrummie  man  tae  ken  ony  better. 
He  's  gotten  the  gift  o'  the  gab  maist  awfu',  but 
an  unctioneer  sudna  tak  tae  propheceein' ;  it 's  no 
cannie. 

"  But  we  maunna  blame  Jock,  for  there  wes  a  story 
fleein'  aboot  that  the  factor  hed  got  a  new  fairmer 
for  Burnbrae;  he  'ill  be  the  incomin'  tenant,  a'm 
judgin'  ;  he  'ill  be  comin'  in  as  the  factor  gaes  oot. 

"  Speak  in'  aboot  that,  hae  ye  herd  the  new  factor's 
name?  they  were  keepin'  it  quiet  on  Friday,"  and 
Jamie  looked  round  with  much  interest. 


102  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"Ye 've  a  tongue,  Jamie,"  and  Drumsheugh 
laughed  aloud,  a  luxury  hardly  known  in  the  Glen, 
while  even  Gormack  himself  made  a  joyful  noise 
within  like  the  running  down  of  an  eight-day  clock. 

"It's  an  ill  job  weel  ended,"  resumed  Hillocks, 
recalling  the  fathers  to  sobriety,  "an'  Burnbrae 's 
gotten  his  fairm  back;  but  it 's  bare  the  day,  with- 
oot  a  beast  tae  pit  in  the  byres  this  winter,  or  a  ploo 
tae  turn  the  stubble. 

"  Nae  doot  he  hed  a  graund  sale,  and  the  fat  cattle 
cowed  a'  thing  for  price,  but  stockin'  ower  again 
'11  be  a  heavy  loss;  it 's  a  terrible  peety  his  lord- 
ship wesna  hame  suner. " 

Then  they  went  into  matters  thoroughly,  and 
Drumsheugh  gave  judgment. 

"Gin  he  hed  back  his  implements,  and  Jean's 
coos,  an'  some  o'  the  auld  horse,  an'  maybe  a  dozen 
stirk,  he 'd  come  oot  richt  aifter  a' ;  a'  didna  hear  the 
dealers  boastin'  aboot  their  bargains  laist  Friday," 
he  added  with  satisfaction. 

There  was  a  long  pause  in  the  conversation,  dur- 
ing which  Drumsheugh  examined  a  loose  slate  on 
the  roof  of  the  church  from  three  different  points  of 
view,  and  Jamie  Soutar  refreshed  his  remembrance 
of  a  neighbouring  tombstone. 

"Div  ye  mean?"  began  Whinnie,  but  broke  off 
at  the  contempt  in  Jamie's  eye. 

"Sail,"  Hillocks  exclaimed  in  a  little.  "What 
think  ye,  Gormack?" 

"They  're  no  veeciously  inclined  fouk  in  the 
Glen,"  responded  that  worthy  man,  with  studied 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  103 

moderation.  "A'  wudna  say  but  it  micht  be  dune. 
Maist  o'  what  we  're  aifter  is  in  the  Glen,  some  hole 
or  ither.  It  wud  croon  a'/'  and  Gormack  began  to 
warm. 

"  Nae  fear  o'  the  implements,"  said  Hillocks,  in 
full  scent,  "nor  the  puckle  young  beasts,  but  a' 11  no 
be  satisfeed,  neeburs,  gin  the  gude  wife  disna  get 
back  her  byre  tae  the  last  coo." 

"A've  twa  stirks,"  interrupted  Whinnie,  taking 
in  the  situation  at  last. 

"  Haud  yir  tongue  till  a'  coont  up  the  kye,"  and 
Hillocks  buckled  to  work. 

"It's  an  aucht  byre,  and  Jean  keepit  ane;  that 
leaves  seeven  tae  collect ;  noo  a'  hae  twa  masel,  an' 
Netherton  bocht  the  quey;  that  's  three  a'  richt. 

"  Didna  ye  get  the  Angus  doddie,  Drumsheugh? 
weel,  ye  'ill  no  be  hard  tae  deal  vvi' ;  an'  Bogie  took 
anither — he's  no  here,  but  he's  a  cautious  man, 
Bogie;  there's  nae  fear  o'  him.    That's  five. 

"Whar's  the  lave?  Ou  aye,  a'  mind  Mary 
Robertson  scrapit  up  eneuch  for  the  white  coo,  a 
fine  milker;  it  wud  hardly  be  richt,  maybe,  tae  ask 
her  " 

"  Ae  coo 's  as  gude 's  anither  tae  Mary,"  broke  in 
Drumsheugh.     "A' 11  see  she  disna  lose." 

"Weel,  that 's  a'  richt,"  Hillocks  went  on;  "and 
we  've  juist  tae  find  anither,  and  that  's  the  hale 
hypothic. " 

"It 's  no  ill  tae  find,"  said  Jamie,  "but  it  'ill  beat 
ye  tae  get  her. " 

"  Ye  're  no  meanin'  —  man,  —  ye  hev  it ;  the  body 


104  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


did  buy  ane,  an'  he  'ill  be  wantin'  twa  or  three  notes 
on  the  bargain;  Milton  's  a  fair  scannal  in  the  Glen," 
and  Hillocks' s  countenance,  a  near  enough  man  in 
season  himself,  was  full  of  scorn. 

"A'm  astonished  at  ye,"  and  Jamie  eyed  Hillocks 
with  severity;  "div  ye  no  ken  that  Milton  is  the 
only  man  in  the  Glen  that  hes  ony  licht  ava?  he  '.s 
sae  releegious  that  a'  never  herd  o'  him  daein'  a 
dirty  trick,  but  his  conscience  telt  him.  It  'ill  cost 
five  notes  tae  mak  his  duty  plain." 

"  If  Milton  disna  gie  back  the  beast  at  the  roup 
price,  in  the  circumstances  " 

"Aye,  aye,  Drumsheugh,"  said  Hillocks  encour- 
agingly. 

"  Weel,  he  needna  show  his  face  in  the  Kilclrummie 
train,  that  's  a'  ;  ye  have  yir  aucht  complete  noo, 
Hillocks,  an'  a' 11  cast  ma  mind  ower  the  imple- 
ments in  the  sermon." 

"A' 11  drive  doon  the  twa  stirks  the  morn's  morn," 
for  Whinnie  was  anxious  to  show  his  zeal. 

"Ye  '11  clae  naethin'  o'  the  kind,"  responded 
Jamie.  "Burnbrae's  plenishing  gaed  awa'  in  a  day, 
and  it  'ill  gae  back  in  a  day.  Drumsheugh,  ye 
begun  the  wark,  and  ye 'ill  hae  tae  feenish  it." 

"A'll  dae  the  Glen  by  Wednesday  nicht,  an' 
a'  thing  'ill  need  tae  be  hame  by  Thursday,  or  Burn- 
brae  'ill  be  in  at  Muirtown  on  Friday  githerin'  stock. 
Ye  'ill  keep  a  quiet  tongue,  neeburs. " 

"  Lippen  (trust)  tae  that,  Drumsheugh,"  Jamie  an- 
swered; "it 's  easier  than  speakin'  in  Drumtochty. " 

Drumsheugh  was  wrapped  in  thought  till  the  doc- 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  105 


tor  came  to  the  application,  when  his  face  lightened, 
and  he  took  snuff  with  leisurely  satisfaction. 

"There  wes  a  set  o'  harrows,"  he  admitted  to 
Jamie  afterwards,  " near  beat  me;  they  're  doon 
Dunleith  wy,  but  a' 11  hae  a  haud  o'  them." 

For  three  days  the  Glen  was  full  of  mystery,  and 
the  latest  news  of  the  campaign  could  be  had  at  the 
smiddy. 


THE  SMIDDY 


Saunders,  Drumsheugh's  foreman,  came  with  some 
machine  teeth  on  Monday  evening,  and  brought  the 
first  intelligence. 

"The  maister 's  in  frae  the  wast  end,  and  he 's  no 
hed  a  single  refusal ;  yon  Dunleith  fairmer  that  cam 
on  the  dun  sheltie  (pony)  wes  that  pleased  at  Burn- 
brae  getting  his  fairm  again,  he  offered  back  the 
harrows  himsel,  and  is  tae  send  up  a  single  ploo  an' 
a  pair  o'  fanners  'at  gied  doon  yon  wy. 


io6  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


"  Drumsheugh 's  tae  be  oot  at  five  the  morn,  an' 
he's  expeckin'  tae  sweep  the  Glen,"  and  Saunders 
struck  a  match  with  emphasis. 

"  It  beats  a',''  said  the  smith,  amazed  at  Saunders's 
continued  speech;  "the  Glen's  fair  roosed." 

On  Wednesday  evening  Drumsheugh  was  his  own 
messenger,  but  would  only  speak  in  parables. 

"Gin  this  weather  keeps  on,  they 'ill  be  cuttin' 
roads  for  the  machines  by  the  end  o'  the  week.  .  .  . 
A' 11  need  tae  be  aff,  it 's  gettin'  late,  and  a've  hed 
twa  days  o't.  .  .  .  There 's  a  fell  puckle  fairms  in 
the  pairish,  aince  ye  gae  roond  them.  .  .  . 

"  Na,  na,  there  's  waur  fouk  in  the  coonty  than 
oor  neeburs, "  and  now  every  one  listened  with  both 
his  ears;  "the  fac  is,  there's  no  ae  disobleeging, 
ill-condeetioned  wratch  in  Drumtochty,  or  ane  that 
wudna  dae  his  pairt  by  a  gude  man."  Where- 
upon the  smith  struck  a  mighty  blow,  and  the 
sparks  flew  to  the  roof  in  celebration  of  a  great 
achievement. 

"It's  a  broon  and  white  caufie  ye  hev,  smith," 
were  Drumsheugh's  last  words.  "Ye  micht  bring 
it  up  the  mornin's  aifternoon  aboot  fower,  and  slip 
it  intae  the  park  afore  the  hoose." 

"That 's  the  stiff  est  job  Drumsheugh  ever  pit  his 
hand  tae,  an'  he's  dune  it  weel,"  and  then  the  smith 
meditated,  "hoo  did  he  ever  get  roond  Milton?  " 

Hillocks  came  in  late  and  threw  some  light  on 
that  problem. 

"A'  met  Drumsheugh  comin'  doon  frae  Milton, 
and  a'  lookit  at  him. 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  107 

" '  The  'ill  be  nane  o'  Jean's  byre  missin'  the 
morn,  Hillocks.' 

"That 's  a'  he  said,  but  his  face  wes  as  red  as  the 
harvest  mune,  and  you  wud  hae  thocht  tae  see  his 
walk  that  he  wes  the  Earl  o'  Kilspindie. " 

Burnbrae  was  afterwards  amazed  at  the  duplicity 
of  Drumtochty,  which  compassed  him  with  lies  and 
befooled  him  on  every  hand,  in  his  local  efforts  to 
restock  his  farm.  Hillocks  declined  to  treat  for 
restoration  till  he  knew  how  prices  stood  on  Friday, 
and  Netherton,  his  fellow-elder,  was  doubtful  whether 
he  could  let  him  have  two  carts,  while  Drumsheugh 
refused  politely  but  firmly  to  cancel  his  purchase  in 
cows.  Drumtochty  was  triumphant  over  Burnbrae' s 
victory,  and  full  of  sympathy  with  him  in  his  posi- 
tion, but  there  were  limits  to  kindness,  and  the 
Glen  meant  to  stick  by  their  bargains. 

"  It's  no  what  a'  wud  hae  expeckit  o'  the  neeburs, 
an'  least  o'  a'  frae  Drumsheugh,"  Jean  complained, 
as  she  sat  on  Thursday  afternoon  in  the  garden. 
Burnbrae  had  just  returned  from  a  very  disappoint- 
ing visit  to  Donald  Menzies,  who  expounded  a  recent 
conflict  with  the  devil  in  minute  detail,  but  would 
not  come  within  a  mile  of  business. 

"We  maunna  judge  the  fouk  hardly,"  said  Burn- 
brae; "a  bargain 's  a  bargain;  they  gave  top  prices, 
an'  nae  doot  they  wantit  what  they  bocht.  They 
did  their  pairt  at  the  roup,  an'  it  wud  be  unreason- 
able tae  ask  mair, "  but  Burnbrae  was  inwardly 
perplexed. 

An  hour  afterwards  James  Soutar  explained  to 


io8  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


Jean  that  he  happened  to  be  passing,  and  thought 
he  would  give  them  "a  cry,"  and  ended  by  dragging 
Burnbrae  off  to  the  most  distant  field  on  the  farm  to 
decide  when  a  patch  of  oats  he  had  bought  in  the 
roup  would  be  ready  for  the  scythe.  He  then  set- 
tled on  a  dyke,  and  for  two  hours  fought  the  great 

war  over  again  from 
beginning  to  end, 
with  a  keen  dramatic 
instinct  and  an  amaz- 
ing flow  of  caustic 
commentary. 

"A'll  no  deny," 
when  Burnbrae  com- 
pelled him  to  return 
for  tea,  "  that  a'm 
disappointed  in  the 
fouk  sin  laist  Friday. 
They  micht  hae  let 
their  bargains  gae  an' 
sent  ye  up  the  rough 
o'  the  stockin'. 
a  talk  on  the  dyke  "  Noo  gin   a'  hed 

been  the  like  o' 
Drumsheugh,"  and  Jamie  again  came  to  a  halt,  "a' 
wud  hae  scorned  tae  keep  onything  ye  needed,  but 
they're  grippy,  there's  nae  doot  o'  that,  in  Drum- 
tochty;  a've  thocht  mony  a  time  ...  is  yon  a  cairt 
comin'  up  the  road? 

"  If  it 's  no  a  load  o'  implements  and  cairt-harness  ! 
It  's  terribly  like  Saunders  frae  Drumsheugh,  but 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  109 


there 's  nae  use  cryin',  for  he  'ill  no  lat  on  he 
hears. 

"Sail,"  continued  Jamie,  as  they  struck  the  track, 
"there's  been  mair  than  ae  cairt  up  here;  an'  a' 
didna  see  ye  hed  cattle  in  the  gairden  field  as  we 
passed. " 

"  Naither  a'  hev;  there 's  no  a  leevin'  beast  on  the 
place  forbye  puir  Brownie.  A'  canna  mak  it  oot !  " 
and  Burnbrae  quickened  his  steps. 

Donald  Menzies's  son  passed  with  a  bridle,  as  if 
he  had  left  a  horse  behind  him,  and  Gormack  met 
them  on  horseback,  as  if  he  had  come  with  a  cart, 
but,  beyond  the  weather,  they  had  nothing  to  say. 
Whinnie  was  wrestling  with  two  stirks  to  get  them 
into  a  field  —  with  the  result  that  one  went  up  the 
road  and  another  down,  after  the  manner  of  their 
kind  —  and  had  no  leisure  for  conversation.  A  large 
roller  had  stuck  in  the  last  gate,  and  young  Nether- 
ton  was  not  in  a  mood  to  answer  questions. 

"Ask  Drumsheugh, "  was  all  that  could  be  got 
out  of  him  as  he  backed  his  horse  first  one  way  and 
then  the  other. 

"Ma  opeenion,"  said  Jamie  solemnly,  "is  that 
Drumtochty  's  gaen  geit  (crazy).  Did  ye  ever  see 
the  like  o'  that?  " 

The  farmhouse  and  other  buildings  made  a  square, 
and  Burnbrae  stood  beyond  speech  or  motion  at  the 
sight  which  met  his  eyes.  The  "ports  "  of  the  cart- 
shed,  that  had  been  a  yawning  void  when  he  left, 
were  filled  once  more  with  two  carts  in  each  —  his 
own  well-mended  carts  —  the  one  behind,  with  the 


no  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


trams  on  the  ground  and  the  one  before,  suspended 
from  the  roof  by  the  chain  saddle;  and  if  Piggie 
Walker  was  not  unharnessing  a  pony  from  the  old 
dogcart  in  the  turnip-shed.  The  greys  that  made 
the  second  pair  —  but  they  were  really  white  —  and 
which  he  had  grudged  selling  far  more  than  the 
young  horses,  came  up  from  the  water  and  went 
sedately  into  the  stable.  Through  the  door  he 
could  see  that  Jean's  byre  was  nearly  full,  and  out- 
side two  calves  had  settled  down  to  supper  upon  a 
guano  bag  with  much  relish.  Saunders,  Baxter  and 
Tammas  Mitchell  were  shouldering  the  fanners  into 
the  corn  room,  while  the  servant  lassies,  quite  off 
their  heads  with  excitement,  were  carrying  in  the 
dairy  dishes  that  some  cart  had  left.  The  courtyard 
was  strewn  with  implements,  and  in  the  centre  stood 
Drumsheugh  full  of  power  and  forcible  speech,  a 
sight  never  to  be  forgotten. 

"  Hurry  up  wi'  the  fanners,  lads,  and  yoke  on  the 
ploos,  pit  the  harrows  in  the  cairt-shed,  an'  hang 
thae  saidles  in  the  stable;  ye  micht  gie  the  horses 
a  feed,  and  see  the  coos  hae  a  bite  o'  grass. 

"  Cairry  that  harness  into  the  hoose,  Piggie,  the 
wife  keeps  it  hersel ;  man,  a'  forgot  tae  gie  ye  a 
word;  hoo  did  ye  hear?  onywy,  it  wes  neeburly  tae 
gie  back  the  auld  dogcairt. 

"Jamie  Soutar  hes  wiled  the  gude  man  oot  o'  the 
road,  but  he  'ill  sune  be  back,  an'  we  maun  hae  the 
place  snod  afore  he  comes." 

Then  he  saw  Burnbrae  and  Jamie,  and  raged 
furiously. 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  in 


"It 's  maist  aggravatin'  that  some  fouk  'ill  come 
when  they  're  no  wantit,  an'  stan'  glowerin'  till  ye 
wud  think  they  hed  never  seen  a  fairm  toon  redd 
(cleaned)  up  in  their  life. 

"The  fac  is,"  and  Drumsheugh  relapsed  into  pri- 
vate life,  "the  neeburs  thocht  ye  micht  be  the  better 
of  some  o'  yir  plenishin'  back  tae  begin  wi',  an'  the 
maist  o'  what 's  in  the  Glen  'ill  be  here  afore  nicht. 

"  Dinna  say  a  word  aboot  it ;  it  wud  hae  been  a 
disgrace  '■ae  see  ye  buy  in'  in  the  Muirtown  market, 
an'  yir  goods  on  oor  fairms.  We  're  hard,  but  we  're 
no  sae  mean  as  that.  Whup  that  reapin'  machine 
oot  o'  the  road,  Tammas, "  shouted  Drumsheugh, 
creating  a  skilt ol  diversion  for  Burnbrae's  benefit. 

Two  cows  came  round  the  corner,  and  made  for 
their  byre  with  the  air  of  persons  glad  to  find  them- 
selves in  familiar  surroundings  after  discomposing 
adventures  in  foreign  parts.  Hawkie  stepped  aside 
at  the  door  to  allow  Oueenie  to  enter  first,  for  there 
is  a  strict  order  of  precedence  among  cows,  and  how- 
ever it  might  have  been  disregarded  in  strange 
byres,  good  manners  must  be  observed  at  home. 

Three  minutes  later  Hillocks  sauntered  in  with 
explanations. 

"They  kent  their  ain  road  as  sune  as  we  got  sicht 
o'  the  hooses;  it 's  a  fine  hairst  day,  Drumsheugh; 
is  the  byre  fillin'  ?  " 

"  It  \s  full,  man  ;  the  laist  coo 's  in,  and  Burnbrae 's 
aff  tae  tell  the  gude  wife ;  naebody  hes  failed, 
Hillocks,  an'  a'm  expectin'  the  ministers  up  every 
minute. " 


ii2  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


Jean  was  utterly  dazed,  and  Burnbrae  knew  not 
what  to  do  with  her.  Between  the  going  and  the 
coming  her  strength  had  given  out,  and  she  could 
only  sit  motionless  except  when  she  wiped  the  tears 
from  her  cheeks. 

"If  Doctor  Davidson  isna  comin'  up  the  near  road 
wi'  Maister  Cunningham.  Drumsheugh 's  telt  them, 
a' 11  wager,  and  they  're  comin'  tae  wush  us  weel. 

"It's  a  terrible  peety,  Jean,  ye 're  no  able  tae 
see  them,"  continued  Burnbrae,  with  great  cunning; 
"they  wud  nearly  need  tae  get  their  tea  comin'  sae 
far,  an'  Drumsheugh  tae,  for  he  's  hed  an  aifternune. 

"But  it  canna  be  helpit  noo,  an'  of  coorse  the  'ill 
be  naethin'  for  them;  a'll  juist  say  ye  're  no  yersel 
the  day,  an'  tell  the  lassies  tae  bring  in  a  jug  o' 
milk,"  and  Burnbrae  made  for  the  door. 

"  Wud  ye  daur  tae  send  onybody  awa'  frae  oor  hoose 
this  day  withoot  brakin'  bread,  tae  say  naethin'  o' 
the  ministers?"  and  Jean  was  already  hunting  for 
her  best  dress.  "  Gae  doon  this  meenut  an'  show 
them  ower  the  place,  an',  John,  man,  keep  them  awa' 
for  an  'oor. " 

When  the  party  returned  from  their  round  all 
things  were  ready,  and  Jean  received  the  company 
in  her  black  silk  and  a  cap  that  called  forth  the 
warm  congratulations  of  the  doctor. 

It  was  a  meal  to  be  remembered,  and  remained 
a  date  for  calculation  while  the  old  people  lived. 
Twenty  times  at  least  did  Jean  apologise  for  its 
imperfection  —  the  scones  which  wanted  more  firing 
and  the  butter  that  was  soft  through  heat  —  and  as 


BRINGING  HOT  WATER 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  115 


many  times  did  the  doctor  declare  with  solemnity 
that  he  never  expected  to  taste  the  like  again  till  he 
returned  to  Burnbrae.  Seven  times  exactly  did 
Jean  go  out  to  supplement  the  table  with  forgotten 
dainties,  and  once  she  was  so  long  away  that  Drums- 
heugh  accused  her  of  visiting  the  byre. 

"No  likely  wi'  this  goon  on.  It 's  plain  ye  ken 
little  o'  women  fouk,  Drumsheugh." 

"Ye  juist  keekit  in,  a'm  thinkin',  tae  see  that 
the  hale  aucht  were  in  their  sta's,  eh,  gude  wife?  " 
and  when  Jean's  face  pled  guilty,  Burnbrae  laughed 
joyfully,  and  declared  that  "the  elder  wes  comin' 
on,"  and  that  "they  micht  see  a  mistress  in  Drums- 
heugh yet. " 

They  all  did  their  part,  but  it  was  agreed  that  the 
doctor  excelled  beyond  competition.  He  told  his 
best  stories  in  a  way  that  amazed  even  his  faithful 
elder,  while  Drumsheugh  and  Burnbrae  watched  for 
the  coming  point  to  honour  it  with  vociferous 
applause,  and  again  would  deploy  in  front  to  draw 
forth  another  favourite.  No  one  could  have  felt 
happy  if  Mr.  Cunningham  had  taken  to  anecdotage, 
but  his  honest  effort  to  follow  the  lead  and  be  in 
at  the  death  with  each  story  was  delightful.  Once 
also  he  threw  in  a  quotation  from  the  Georgics, 
which  the  doctor  declared  the  cleverest  thing  he  had 
ever  heard,  and  the  abashed  man  became  the  object 
of  silent  admiration  for  sixty  seconds.  One  of  the 
lassies,  specially  dressed  for  the  occasion,  was  con- 
tinually bringing  in  hot  water  and  reserve  tea-pots, 
till  the  doctor  accused  Drumsheugh  of  seven  cups, 


n6  FOR  CONSCIENCE  SAKE 


and  threatened  him  with  the  session  for  immoderate 
drinking;  and  Drumsheugh  hinted  that  the  doctor 
was  only  one  short  himself.  Simple  fooling  of 
country  folk,  that  would  sound  very  poor  beside  the 
wit  of  the  city,  but  who  shall  estimate  the  love  in 
Burnbrae's  homely  room  that  evening? 

When  at  last  the  doctor  rose  to  go,  in  spite  of 
Jean's  last  remonstrance  that  he  had  eaten  nothing, 
Burnbrae  said  he  would  like  the  ministers  to  take 
the  reading  that  night,  and  then  they  all  went  into 
the  kitchen,  which  had  been  made  ready.  A  long 
table  stood  in  the  centre,  and  at  one  end  lay  the  old 
family  Bible;  round  the  table  gathered  Burnbrae's 
sons  and  the  serving  lads  and  women.  Doctor 
Davidson  motioned  to  the  Free  Church  minister  to 
take  his  place  at  the  head. 

"This  is  your  family,  and  your  elder's  house." 

But  Cunningham  spoke  out  instantly  with  a  clear 
voice : 

"  Doctor  Davidson,  there  is  neither  Established 
nor  Free  Church  here  this  night;  we  are  all  one  in 
faith  and  love,  and  you  were  ordained  before  I  was 
born." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,  for  this  honour,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, and  Drumsheugh  said  that  he  had  never  seen 
him  look  so  pleased. 

He  was  already  selecting  the  psalm,  when  Burn- 
brae asked  leave  to  say  a  word,  and  there  was  such 
a  stillness  that  the  ticking  of  the  clock  in  the  lobby 
was  heard  over  the  kitchen. 

"  It  isna  needfu'  for  me  tae  tell  ye,  freends,  that 


THE  REPLENISHING  OF  BURNBRAE  117 


my  mind  is  wi'  the  Free  Kirk  in  her  contention, 
and  a'  houp  for  grace  tae  obey  ma  licht  as  lang  as  a' 
live. 

"Nae  man's  conscience,  hooever,  is  a  law  tae  his 
neebur,  but  every  man  maun  follow  the  guidance  o' 
the  Speerit ;  an'  gin  a'  hev  said  a  hasty  or  bitter  word 
against  the  Auld  Kirk,  or  called  her  ony  unworthy 
name  thae  past  years,  a'  want  tae  say  that  nane 
regrets  it  mair  than  a'  dae  masel,  and  it  becomes 
me,  this  nicht,  tae  ask  yir  pardon." 

"You  never  did  anything  of  the  kind,  Burnbrae," 
said  the  doctor  huskily.  "I  wish  to  God  we  were 
all  as  good  men,"  and  the  Free  Kirk  elder  and  the 
Moderate  minister  clasped  hands  across  the  open 
Bible.  Then  the  doctor  cleared  his  throat  with 
great  majesty,  and  gave  out  the  Hundred-and-thirty- 
third  Psalm : 

"  Behold  how  good  a  thing  it  is, 
And  how  becoming  well, 
Together,  such  as  brethren  are 
In  unity  to  dwell." 

And  the  sweet  sound  of  Eastgate  floated  out  Gn  the 
peaceful  air  of  the  Glen,  where  the  harvest  moon 
was  shining  upon  fields  of  gold. 


/ 


MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


When  the  practice  of  Drumtochty  was  advertised, 
and  the  duties  denned  by  geography  —  the  emolu- 
ments being  treated  with  marked  reserve  —  the 
medical  profession  did  not  contend  in  a  body  for  the 
post,  and  it  was  more  than  a  year  before  William 
Maclure  had  a  successor.  During  the  interregnum 
temporary  physicians  of  varied  experience  and  erratic 
character  took  charge  of  our  health  for  short  periods, 
and  the  Glen  had  experiences  which  are  still  fondly 
cherished,  and  afforded  Elspeth  Macfadyen  the  raw 
material  for  some  of  her  most  finished  products. 
One  of  these  worthies  was  a  young  gentleman 
twenty-four  years  of  age  and  of  Irish  descent,  whose 
thirst  for  fees  and  hatred  of  anything  beyond  the 
minimum  of  labour  bordered  on  genius.  It  was 
he  who  declined  to  enter  Lizzie  Taylor's  house, 
although  sent  for  in  the  most  interesting  circum- 
stances, and  discoursed  outside  the  door  with  a 
volubility  that  seemed  almost  Satanic,  till  he  had 
received  an  earnest  of  ten  shillings  in  fourteen  coins 
of  the  realm.  Perhaps  the  Glen  was  more  indignant 
when  Dr.  O'Bralligan  declined  to  rise  one  night  and 


122  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


go  to  Glen  Urtach,  "not  even  if  his  sainted  grand- 
mother came  to  ask  him,  riding  on  the  back  of  the 
Angel  Gabriel." 

"It  'ill  no  be  Gabriel  'at  'ill  tak  chairge  o'  him," 
said  James  Soutar  succinctly.  And  the  feeling  in 
the  kirkyard  was  so  decided  that  O'Bralligan  left 
within  a  week,  explaining  to  Peter  Bruce  at  the 
Junction  that  the  people  of  Drumtochty  were  the 
"most  oudacious  and  onreasonable  set  o'  black- 
guards "  he  had  ever  seen. 

His  successor  had  enjoyed  the  remarkable  privi- 
lege of  ministering  in  a  fleeting  capacity  to  the 
health  of  sixty-three  parishes  during  a  professional 
practice  of  under  twenty  years,  and  retained  through 
all  vicissitudes  a  pronounced  Glasgow  accent,  and 
an  unquenchable  thirst  for  distilled  liquors.  Dr. 
Murchieson  was  not  greedy  about  fees,  and  had 
acquired  considerable  skill  in  his  eventful  life,  so 
the  Glen  endured  him  for  three  months,  but  used 
him  with  precautions. 

"Gin  ye  catch  him  gaein'  east,"  Hillocks  summed 
up,  "he 's  as  quiet  a  man  as  ye  wud  wish,  and  skilly 
tae,  but  comin'  wast  he  's  clean  redeeklus;  last 
nicht,"  added  Hillocks,  "  he  wes  carryin'  his  hat  on 
the  pint  o'  his  stick  an'  singin'  '  Scots  wha  hae. '  " 

An  unaccountable  tendency  in  certain  states  of 
mind  to  prescribe  calomel  tried  the  patience  of  the 
Glen,  and  Gormack  conceived  a  personal  prejudice 
against  Murchieson  because  he  had  ordered  him  to 
be  blistered  with  croton  oil  till  he  returned  next 
day,  when  Gormack  had  a  "titch"  of  bronchitis; 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  123 


but  his  cup  ran  over  the  night  he  sounded  a  pillow 
instead  of  Maggie  Martin's  lungs,  and  gave  her 
mother  no  hope. 

"  Congested  frae  top  tae  bottom ;  nae  whasle 
(rales)  at  a'  the  day;  naethin'  can  be  dune;  a  fine 
lassie,"  and  he  departed,  after  a  brief  nap,  full  of 
music. 

Hillocks  drove  him  to  the  station,  and  he  seemed 
to  bear  no  grudge. 

"That  maks  saxty-fower  —  a've  forgotten  the 
names,  but  a'  keep  the  coont." 

His  farewell  was  divided  between  a  generous 
appreciation  of  Drumtochty  and  an  unfeigned  regret 
that  Kildrummie  had  no  refreshment-room. 

"Ilka  trade  hes  some  ne'er-dae-weels,  an'  the 
doctors  hae  fewer  than  maist.  Ye  canna  expect 
onything  else  frae  thae  orra  craturs, "  said  Drums- 
heugh  next  Sabbath,  "an'  we  're  better  withoot 
them.  It  passes  me  hoo  yon  body  stude  it,  for  he 
wes  aye  tastin'." 

"He  didna  stand  it,"  broke  in  Hillocks  with 
eagerness;  "div  ye  ken  hoo  mony  vvhups  he  's  hed  ? 
'A've  been  saxty-fower  times,'  he  says  to  me  at 
Kildrummie;  a'  doot  he  wes  exaggeratin',  though." 

"Been  what,  Hillocks?"  inquired  Jamie  with 
keen  interest. 

"Ye  ken  what  a'm  ettlin'  aifter  fine,  Jamie,  an' 
it's  no  a  chancy  word  tae  mention." 

"Wes  't  locum  tenensf  " 

"That,"  said  Hillocks,  "is  the  word,  if  ye  maun 
hae  it;  a'  wunner  the  body's  no  feared;  it's  an 


124  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


awfu'  business,"  and  Hillocks  dropped  into  morals, 
"when  a  man  canna  manage  his  drink." 

Jamie  declared  that  he  had  never  seen  the  kirkyard 
so  overcome,  and  ever  afterwards  Hil locks' s  name 
suggested  sudden  and  captivating  strokes  of  humour, 
so  that  men's  faces  lit  up  at  the  sight  of  him. 

It  was  in  these  circumstances  that  the  Glen  fell 
back  on  Kirsty  Stewart  for  medical  aid,  with  the 
Kildrummie  doctor  as  a  last  resort,  and  Kirsty  cov- 
ered her  name  with  glory  for  a  generation.  She 
had  always  had  some  reputation  as  a  practitioner  of 
ability  and  experience  —  being  learned  in  herbs,  and 
the  last  of  her  folk;  but  her  admirers  were  them- 
selves astonished  at  the  insight  she  showed  in  the 
mysterious  illness  of  Peter  Macintosh,  and  her  very 
detractors  could  only  insinuate  that  her  credit  ended 
with  diagnosis.  His  case  had  a  certain  distinction 
from  the  first  day  he  complained,  and  we  remem- 
bered afterwards  that  it  was  never  described  as  a 
"whup. "  During  the  first  week  even  there  was  a 
vague  impression  in  the  Glen,  conveyed  by  an 
accent,  that  Peter  was  the  subject  of  a  dispensation, 
and  the  kirkyard  was  full  of  chastened  curiosity. 

"What 's  this  that 's  wrang  wi'  Peter  Macintosh, 
Whinnie?"  broke  out  Drumsheugh,  with  a  certain 
magisterial  authority.  "  Ye  live  near  him,  and  sud 
hae  the  richts  o't.  As  for  the  fouk  doon  bye,  ye 
can  get  naethin'  oot  o'  them ;  the  smith  juist  shook 
his  head  twa  nichts  syne,  as  if  he  wes  at  a  beerial." 

"Yeneedna  speir  at  me,  Drumsheugh,"  responded 
Whinnie,  with  solemnity,  "for  a'  ken  nae  mair  than 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  125 


ye  dae  yersel,  though  oor  fields  mairch  and  we 've 
aye  been  neeburly. " 

"  Losh  keep's,  ye  surely  can  tell  us  vvhar  it's 
catchit  Peter;  is 't  in  his  head  or  his  heels?  is  he 
gaein'  aboot  or  hes  he  ta'en  tae  his  bed?  did  ye  no 
see  him  ?  "  said  Drumsheugh  severely. 

"  Ou  aye,  a'  saw  him,  gin  that  be  onything;  but 
ye  canna  get  muckle  oot  o'  Peter  at  the  best,  and 
he 's  clean  past  speakin'  noo. 

"He  wes  sittin'  in  his  chair  afore  the  door,  an'  a' 
he  said  wes,  'This  is  an  awfu'  business.  Whinnie, ' 
and  he  wud  dance  in  his  seat  for  maybe  twa  meenuts. 
'  What  \s  ailin'  ye,  Peter?  '  a'  askit.  '  A  red-het 
ploo  iron  on  ma  back,'  says  he,  an'  it  gied  me  a 
grue  tae  hear  him." 

"  Mercy  on  's,  neeburs, "  interrupted  Hillocks, 
"this  is  no  cannie. " 

"It's  no  his  briest,"  pursued  Whinnie,  "for  he 
hesna  got  a  hoast ;  an'  it 's  no  a  stroke,  whatever  it 
be,  for  he's  aye  on  the  motion;  an'  it's  no  his 
inside;  but  in  or  oot,  Peter's  a  waesome  sicht," 
and  Whinnie's  manner  greatly  impressed  the 
fathers. 

Leezbeth  went  up  on  Monday,  as  a  commissioner 
from  Drumsheugh,  and  that  masterful  woman  made 
no  doubt  that  she  would  unravel  the  mystery;  but 
she  was  distinctly  awed  by  Mrs.  Macintosh's  tone, 
which  was  a  fine  blend  of  anxiety  and  importance. 

"  Hoo  are  ye,  Leezbeth,  an'  hoo 's  Drumsheugh? 
There 's  threatenin'  tae  be  a  scoorie,  but  it  'ill 
maybe  haud  up  till  the  aifternoon.    Wull  ye  come 


126  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


in  tae  the  kitchen  the  day?  The  glide  man  's  no 
himsel  the  noo,  and  he 's  sittin'  ben  the  hoose." 

"That's  what  a'  cam'  aboot,"  said  Leezbeth, 
rebelling  against  the  solemnity  of  the  atmosphere; 
"we  heard  doon  bye  that  he  wes  sober  (ill),  an'  the 
maister's  aff  tae  Dunleith,  and  cudna  get  up  tae 
speir  for  him.  What's  the  natur'  o'  the  tribble? 
Wes  't  sudden? " 

Janet  knew  she  was  mistress  of  the  situation  for 
once,  and  had  no  fear  that  Leezbeth  could  bring  her 
down  from  her  high  places  in  this  rough  fashion. 

"  It 's  rael  freendly  o'  ye,  an'  a'm  muckle  obleeged; 
the  fouk  are  awfu'  ta'en  up  aboot  Peter,  an'  there  's 
juist  ae  word  on  a'body's  mooth.  A'  ken  what 's 
comin'  as  sune  as  a'  see  a  neebur  crossin'  the  fields. 

"  Ye  may  be  sure,  Leezbeth,  a'  wud  tell  ye,  gin  a' 
kent  masel,"  and  Janet  wagged  her  head;  "it 's  nae 
pleesure  tae  me  that  there  sud  be  naethin'  noo  at 
kirk  or  market  but  Peter's  tribble,  and  tae  hae  half 
the  Glen  deavin'  me  wi'  questions. 

"Wumman,  a'  tell  ye,  as  sure  as  a'm  stannin' 
here,  a'  wud  raither  hae  Peter  gaein'  aboot  at  his 
wark  instead  o'  a'  this  tiravee  (commotion),  and  him 
girnin'  frae  mornin'  tae  nicht  in  his  chair.  Div  ye 
hear  him  ragin'  at  Mary?  " 

"  Gae  awa'  oot  o'  there,"  and  Peter  was  evidently 
rejecting  some  office  of  attention;  "gin  ye  come 
near  me  a'll  tak  ma  stick  tae  yir  shoothers,  ye  little 
trimmie;  ma  word,  a'm  het  eneuch  withoot  a  plaid." 

"This  is  a  terrible  hoose  the  noo,"  and  Janet 
struggled  vainly  with  a  natural  pride;  "there 's  been 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  127 


naethin'  like  this  wi'  oor  forbears  sae  far  back  as  a' 
can  mind,  an'  a'  doot  gin  there's  been  the  marra  o't 
in  the  Glen." 

"Hoo's  he  affeckit?  "  for  Leezbeth  was  much 
exasperated  by  Janet's  airs,  a  woman  who,  in  ordi- 
nary circumstances,  could  not  have  withstood  her 
for  an  instant.  "  Ye  can  surely  say  that  muckle. 
It's  no  his  chest;  that  's  in  fine  fettle;  it 'ill  be 
aither  his  legs  or  his  head;  maist  likely  his  head 
frae  the  wy  he's  carryin'  on." 

"  Leezbeth,  dinna  mak  licht  o'  sic  a  veesitation, " 
said  Janet,  with  all  the  dignity  of  affliction;  "ye 
dinna  ken  when  it  micht  draw  nearer  hame.  It 
wes  hangin'  ower  Peter  for  months,  but  it  cam  oot 
sudden  in  the  end,  a'  in  a  piece  ae  morning.  Na, 
the  tribble  'ill  tak  a  rin  up  an'  doon  his  legs,  but  it 
disna  settle  there,  an'  a'  canna  deny  that  he  's  frac- 
tious at  a  time,  but  he  never  rammils  (wanders) ; 
whatever  it  be,  the  tribble  keeps  tae  its  ain  place." 

"  Whar  is  that  and  what  like  is 't?  "  for  Leezbeth 
was  now  reduced  to  entreaty;  "there  maun  be  some- 
thing tae  see,  an',  Janet  wumman,  a've  hed  deiths 
amang  ma  fouk,  tae  sae  naethin'  o'  bringin'  up 
Drumsheugh's  calves  for  thirty  year." 

"A'  ken  ye  're  skilly,  Leezbeth,"  said  Janet,  much 
mollified  by  Leezbeth's  unwonted  humility,  "an' 
a'd  be  gled  o'  yir  advice.  Ye  daurna  ask  Peter  for 
a  sicht,  but  a'll  gie  ye  an  idea  o't.  It 's  juist  for  a' 
the  warld,"  and  Leezbeth  held  her  breath,  "like  a 
sklatch  o'  eukiness  (itchiness)  half  roond  his  waist, 
naither  mair  nor  less." 


128  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


"Is  that  a',  Janet?  "  and  Leezbeth  began  to  take 
revenge  for  her  humiliation;  "ye  needna  hae  made 
sic  an  ado  aboot.  Div  ye  no  ken  what 's  the  maitter 
wi'  yir  man?  gin  ye  hed  ony  gumption  (sense)  he 
micht  hae  been  weel  langsyne. 

"Wumman,  it's  a  heat  in  the  banes  'at  he's 
gotten  laisth  airst,  and  the  spring  's  drawin'  it  oot. 
Dinna  send  it  in  for  ony  sake,  else  ye  'ill  hae  yir 
man  in  the  kirkyaird. 

"  Ma  advice,"  continued  Leezbeth,  now  rioting  in 
triumph,  "wud  be  tae  rub  him  weel  wi'  whisky;  ye 
canna  gangf wrang  wi'  speerits,  oot  or  in;  an'  dinna 
lat  him  sleep;  if  he  took  tae  dronyin'  (dozing)  ye 
micht  never  get  him  waukened. "  And  so  Drums- 
heugh's  housekeeper  departed,  having  dashed  Janet 
at  a  stroke. 

When  Kirsty  arrived  in  the  afternoon  to  offer  her 
services,  Janet  had  no  heart  to  enter  into  the  case. 

"  Drumsheugh's  Leezbeth  gied  us  a  cry  afore  din- 
ner and  settled  the  maitter;  gin  she  lays  doon  the 
law  there  's  naebody  need  conter  her;  ye  wud  think 
she 'd  been  at  the  creation  tae  hear  her  speak; 
ye  've  hed  a  lang  traivel,  Kirsty,  an'  ye  'ill  be  ready 
for  yir  tea. " 

"Ou  ay,"  replied  Janet  bitterly,  "she  gied  it  a 
name;  it  's  naething  but  a  bit  heat  —  a  bairn's  rash, 
a'm  jidgin',  though  a'  never  saw  ane  like  it  a'  ma 
days;  but  Leezbeth  kens  better,  wi'  a'  her  experi- 
ence, an'  of  coorse  it 's  a  sateesfaction  tae  ken  that 
the  Glen  needna  fash  (trouble)  themselves  aboot 
Peter." 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


"  Leezbeth  wesna  blate, "  Kirsty  burst  out,  unable 
to  contain  herself  at  the  thought  of  this  intrusion 
into  her  recognized  sphere,  "an'  it 's  a  mercy  we  hae 
the  like  o'  her  in  the  Glen  noo  that  Dr.  Maclure 
is  deid  an'  gane.  Did  ye  say  her  experience?  "  and 
Kirsty  began  to  warm  to  the  occasion;  "a'  wunner 
whether  it  's  wi'  beasts  or  fouk  ?  Gin  it  be  wi' 
Drumsheugh's  young  cattle,  a'  hae  naethin'  tae  say; 
but  gin  it  be  Christians,  a'  wud  juist  ask  ae  ques- 
tion —  hoo  mony  o'  her  fouk  hes  she  beeried  ?  " 

"Naethin'  tae  speak  o'  aside  you,  Kirsty,"  said 
Janet,  in  propitiation;  "a'body  kens  what  preevi- 
leges  ye  've  hed. " 

"Ae  brither  an'  twa  half  sisters,  that 's  a',"  con- 
tinued Kirsty,  "for  a'  hed  it  frae  her  own  lips;  it 's 
no  worth  mentionin'  ;  gin  a'  hed  seen  nae  mair  trib- 
ble  than  that  a'  wud  be  ashamed  tae  show  ma  face  in 
a  sick  hoose;  lat 's  hear  aboot  yir  man,  Janet,"  and 
Kirsty  settled  down  to  details. 

"Did  ye  say  half  roond,  Janet?"  and  she  leaned 
forward  with  concern  on  every  feature. 

"That 's  hoo  it  is;  the  ither  side  is  as  white  as  a 
bairn's  skin;  an'  though  he  be  ma  man,  a'll  say  this 
for  him,  that  he  's  aye  hed  clean  blude  an'  nae 
marks;  but  what  are  ye  glowerin'  at?  hae  ye  ony 
licht?  speak,  wumman." 

"This  is  a  mair  serious  business,  Janet,  than  ony- 
body  suspectit, "  and  Kirsty  sighed  heavily. 

"Preserve's,  Kirsty,  what  div  ye  think  is  the 
matter  wi'  Peter?  tell  's  the  warst  at  aince, "  for 
Kirsty 's  face  suggested  an  apocalypse  of  woe. 


132  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 

"A  heat,"  she  said,  still  lingering  over  Leezbeth's 
shallow,  amateur  suggestion,  "gotten  at  the  hairst 
.  .  .  rub  it  wi'  whisky  ...  ay,  ay,  it 's  plain  whar 
she  gets  her  skill,  'at  disna  ken  the  differ  atween 
the  tribble  o'  a  man  an'  a  beast. 


IN  THE  KIRK YA K  D 


"  Is  n't  maist  michty, "  and  now  Kirsty  grew  indig- 
nant, "  'at  a  wumman  o'  Leezbeth's  age  cudna  tell 
an  eruption  frae  a  jidgment?" 

"Kirsty  Stewart,  hoo  div  ye  ken  that?"  cried 
Janet,  much  lifted;  "a'  wes  jalousin'  that  it  passed 
ordinary,  but  what  gars  ye  think  o'  jidgment?  " 

"  A'm  no  the  wumman  tae  meddle  wi'  sic  a  word 
lichtly.     Na,  na,  a'  micht  hae  gaed  awa'  an'  said 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  133 


naethin'  gin  Leezbeth  heclna  been  sae  ready  wi'  her 
heats. 

"A'm  no  wantin'  tae  frichten  ye,  Janet,"  and 
Kirsty's  face  assumed  an  awful  significance,  "an' 
a'm  no  wantin'  tae  flatter  ye,  but  ye  may  lippen 
tae 't  Peter's  hed  a  special  dispensation.  Did  ye 
say  aboot  twa  hands' -breadths  ?  " 

As  Janet  could  only  nod,  Kirsty  continued  :  "  He 's 
been  gruppit  by  a  muckle  hand,  an'  it 's  left  the  sign. 
Leezbeth  wes  maybe  no  sae  far  wrang  aboot  the 
heat,  but  it  came  frae  the  ootside,  a'm  dootin'." 

"Div  ye  mean,"  and  Janet's  voice  had  sunk  to  a 
whisper,  "is't  auld  " 

"Dinna  say  the  word,  wumman;  he  micht  be 
hearin',  and  there  's  nae  use  temptin'  him.  It  's 
juist  a  warnin',  ye  see,  an'  it 's  a  mercy  he  gied  nae 
farther.  Hed  he  ta'en  baith  hands,  it  micht  hae 
been  the  end  o'  yir  man." 

"This  is  no  lichtsome,"  and  Janet  began  to  wail, 
although  not  quite  insensible  to  the  distinction 
Peter  had  achieved;  "a'  kent  frae  the  beginnin' 
this  wesna  a  common  tribble,  an'  we  're  behadden 
tae  ye  for  settlin'  the  maitter.  Whatever  hes  Peter 
dune  tae  bring  sic  a  jidgment  on  himsel?  He'sa 
cautious  man  as  ye  'ill  get  in  the  Glen,  an'  pays  his 
rent  tae  the  day ;  he  may  taste  at  a  time,  but  he 
never  fechts;  it  beats  me  tae  pit  ma  hand  on  the 
meanin'  o't. " 

"There  wes  some  clash  (gossip)  aboot  him  contra- 
dickin'  the  minister,"  said  Kirsty,  looking  into  the 
remote  distance. 


134  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


"Div  ye  mean  the  colie-shangie  (disturbance) 
ower  the  new  stove,  when  Peter  and  the  doctor  hed 
sic  a  cast  oot?  Ye 're  an  awfu'  wumman,"  and 
Janet  regarded  Kirsty  with  admiration;  "a'  never 
wud  hae  thocht  o'  conneckin'  the  twa  things.  But 
a'  daurna  say  ye  're  no  richt,  for  a'  hed  ma  ain  fears 
aboot  the  wy  Peter  wes  cairryin'  on. 

"'  A' 11  no  gie  up  ma  pew  whar  oor  fouk  hae  sat 
Gude  kens  hoo  lang,  for  the  doctor  or  ony  ither 
man;  they  can  pit  the  stove  on  the  ither  side,  an' 
gin  it  disna  draw  there,  the  doctor  can  set  it  up  in 
the  kirkyaird. '  Thae  were  his  verra  words,  Kirsty, 
an'  a'  tell  't  him  they  wud  dae  him  nae  gude. 

"If  a'  didna  beg  o'  him  ootside  that  door  no  tae 
gang  against  the  minister.  '  Dinna  be  the  first  in 
the  Glen  tae  anger  the  doctor,'  a'  said;  but  Peter's 
that  thrawn  when  his  birse  is  up  that  ye  micht  as 
weel  speak  tae  a  wall. 

"He's  made  a  bonnie  like  endin'  wi'  his  dour- 
ness;  but,  Kirsty,  he's  sair  humbled,  an'  a'  wudna 
say  but  he  micht  come  roond  gin  he  wes  hannelled 
cautious.    What  wud  ye  advise,  Kirsty?  " 

"The  doctor 's  comin'  hame  this  week,  a'm  hear- 
in',  an'  he 'ill  be  up  tae  see  Peter  afore  Sabbath. 
Noo  ma  opinion  is,"  and  Kirsty  spoke  with  great 
deliberation  "that  ye  micht  juist  bring  roond  the 
conversation  till  ye  titched  on  the  stove,  an'  Peter 
cud  gie  the  doctor  tae  understand  that  there  wud 
be  nae  mair  argiment  aboot  his  seat. 

"Whinnie  cud  get  a  bottle  frae  the  Muirtown 
doctor  on  Friday  —  it  wud  be  a  help  —  but  it  's  no 


A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT  135 


medeecine,  no,  nor  whisky,  'at  'ill  dae  the  wark. 
Gin  ye  settle  with  the  minister,  yir  man  'ill  be  in 
the  kirk  afore  the  month  be  oot,"  and  Kirsty  was 
invested  with  such  mystery  that  Janet  hardly  dared 
an  allusion  to  Milton's  third  marriage. 

Peter  made  his  first  appearance  in  the  kirkyard 
the  very  day  the  stove 
was  installed,  and  re- 
ceived the  congratu- 
lations of  the  fathers 
with  an  admirable 
modesty. 

"A'  wes  feared  he 
micht  be  lifted,"  Hil- 
locks remarked,  after 
Peter  had  gone  in  to 
take  possession  of  his 
new  seat,  "an'  ye  cud- 
na  hae  wonnered  gin 
he  hed,  for  he 's  gaen 
through  mair  than 
most,  but  he  held  oot 

his  hand  for  the  box  wi'  as  little  pride  as  if  it  hed 
been  rheumatiks. 

"He's  fell  hearty  an'  cheery,  but  Peter's  hed  a 
shak,  an'  when  he  saw  the  smoke  oot  the  stove  there 
wes  a  look  cam  ower  his  face.  Sail,"  concluded 
Hillocks,  with  emphasis,  "he 'ill  no  meddle  with 
the  minister  again,  a'll  warrant." 

"  Wha  wud  hae  thocht  the  doctor  wes  sae  veecious, 
or  are  ye  considerin'  that  there  wes  anither  hand 


THE  AULD  KIRK  STOVE 


136  A  MANIFEST  JUDGMENT 


in  't,  Hillocks?  "  inquired  Jamie  Soutar,  with  great 
smoothness  of  speech. 

"Naebody  said  the  minister  did  it,  Jamie,  and  a' 
never  said  onybody  did  it,  but  we  may  hae  oor  ain 
thochts,  and  Peter  'ill  no  forget  this  stramash  (acci- 
dent) as  lang  as  he  lives. " 

"  Na,  na,  a  minister's  an  ill  craw  tae  shoot  at, 
Jamie,"  and  Hillocks  went  into  kirk  as  one  who  had 
rebuked  a  mocking  scepticism ;  but  Jamie  stood 
alone  under  the  beech-tree  till  they  had  raised  the 
psalm,  and  then  he  followed  his  neighbours,  with  a 
face  of  funereal  solemnity. 


DRUMS  HE  UGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


I 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE 

Drumsheugh  had  arrested  Dr.  Maclure  on  the  high- 
road the  winter  before  he  died,  and  compelled  him 
to  shelter  for  a  while,  since  it  was  a  rough  December 
night  not  far  from  Christmas,  and  every  one  knew 
the  doctor  had  begun  to  fail. 

"  Is  that  you,  Weelum  ?  "  for  the  moon  was  not 
yet  up,  and  an  east  wind  was  driving  the  snow  in 
clouds;  "a'  wes  oot  seein'  the  sheep  werena  smoored 
in  the  drift,  an'  a'm  wrastlin'  hame. 

"Come  back  tae  the  hoose  an'  rest;  gin  there's 
tae  be  ony  mune  she  'ill  be  oot  by  nine,  and  the 
wind  'ill  maybe  settle;  ye 're  baith  o'  ye  sair  for- 
foochen  "  (exhausted),  and  Drumsheugh  seized  Jess's 
bridle. 

For  eight  miles  the  wind  had  been  on  Maclure's 
back,  and  he  was  cased  in  snow  from  the  crown  of 
the  felt  hat,  that  was  bent  to  meet  his  jacket  collar, 
down  to  the  line  of  his  saddle.  The  snow  made  a 
little  bank  on  the  edge  of  the  saddle  that  was  hardly 
kept  in  check  by  the  heat  of  Jess's  body;  it  was 
broken  into  patches  on  his  legs  by  the  motion  of 
riding,  but  clung  in  hard  lumps  to  the  stirrup  irons. 


140       DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


The  fine  drift  whirling  round  powdered  him  in  front, 
and,  melting  under  his  breath,  was  again  frozen  into 
icicles  on  his  beard,  and  had  made  Jess's  mane  still 
whiter.  When  Drumsheugh's  housekeeper  opened 
the  kitchen  door  and  the  light  fell  on  the  horse  and 
her  master  —  a  very  ghostly  sight  —  Leezbeth  was 
only  able  to  say,  "Preserve  's  a'  body  and  soul," 
which  was  the  full  form  of  a  prayer  in  use  on  all 
occasions  of  surprise. 

Three  times  the  doctor  essayed  to  come  down,  and 
could  not  for  stiffness,  and  he  would  have  fallen  on 
the  doorstep  had  it  not  been  for  Drumsheugh. 

"This  'ill  be  a  lesson  tae  ye,  Weelum,"  helping 
him  in  to  the  kitchen;  "ye 're  doonricht  numbed; 
get  aff  the  doctor's  boots,  Leezbeth,  an'  bring  a 
coat  for  him." 

"Awa'  wi'  ye;  div  ye  think  a'm  a  bairn?  .  .  . 
A' 11  be  masel  in  a  meenut  ...  it  wes  the  cauld 
.  .  .  they  're  stiff  tae  pull,  Leezbeth  ...  let  me 
dae 't  .  .  .  weel,  weel,  if  ye  wull  .  .  .  but  a'  dinna 
like  tae  see  a  wumman  servin'  a  man  like  this." 

He  gave  in  after  a  slight  show  of  resistance,  and 
Leezbeth,  looking  up,  saw  her  master  watching 
Maclure  wistfully,  as  one  regards  a  man  smitten 
unto  death.  Drumsheugh  realised  in  one  moment 
that  this  was  the  doctor's  last  winter;  he  had  never 
seen  him  so  easily  managed  all  his  life. 

Leezbeth  had  kept  house  for  Drumsheugh  for 
many  years,  and  was  understood  to  know  him  in 
all  his  ways.  It  used  to  be  a  point  of  interesting 
debate  which  was  the  harder,  but  all  agreed  that 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE  141 

they  led  the  Glen  in  ingenious  economy  and  unfail- 
ing detection  of  irresponsible  generosity.  The 
Kildrummie  butcher  in  his  irregular  visits  to  the 
Glen  got  no  support  at  Drumsheugh,  and  the  new 
lass  that  favoured  the  ploughmen  with  flowing  meas- 
ure was  superseded  next  milking  time. 


THE  KILDRUMMIE  BUTCHER 


"That  's  yir  pint,  Jeems,  naither  mair  nor  less," 
Leezbeth  would  say  to  the  "  second  man.  "  "  Mary's 
hand  shaks  when  there's  lads  aboot,"  and  Drums- 
heugh heard  the  story  with  much  appreciation  in 
the  evening. 

She  used  to  boast  that  there  was  "nae  saft  bit 
aboot  the  maister,"  and  of  all  things  Drumsheugh 


142       DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


was  supposed  to  be  above  sentiment.  But  Leez- 
beth  was  amazed  that  evening  at  a  curious  gentle- 
ness of  manner  that  softened  his  very  voice  as  he 
hung  round  the  doctor. 

"  Drink  it  aff,  Weelum,"  holding  the  glass  to  his 
lips;  "it  'ill  start  the  hert  again;  try  an'  rise,  an' 
we  'ill  gang  ben  the  hoose  noo  .  .  .  that  's  it,  ye  're 
on  yir  legs  again  .  .  .  that  door 's  aye  in  the  road 
.  .  .  it 's  a  dark  passage;  gie 's  yir  airm  ...  it 's 
awfu'  hoo  stiff  a  body  gets  sittin'." 

Leezbeth  was  ordered  to  bring  such  dainties  as 
could  be  found,  and  she  heard  Drumsheugh  pressing 
things  upon  the  doctor  with  solicitude. 

"It's  no  richt  tae  gang  that  lang  withoot  meat, 
an'  the  nicht 's  sae  cauld  ;  ye 'ill  be  fund  on  the  road 
some  mornin'.  Try  some  o'  thae  black  currants; 
they're  graund  for  a  hoast.  Ye 're  no  surely  dune 
already. 

"  Draw  in  yir  chair  tae  the  fire,  Weelum  ;  tak  this 
ane  ;  it  wes  ma  mither's,  an'  it's  easier;  ye  need  it 
aifter  that  ride.    Are  ye  warm  noo?  " 

"  A'm  rael  comfortable  an'  content,  Drumsheugh  ; 
it's  a  wee  lonesome  wast  yonder  when  a  man  comes 
in  weet  an'  tired  o'  a  nicht ;  juist  tae  sit  aside  a  freend, 
although  nane  o's  say  mickle,  is  a  rest." 

"  A'  wush  ye  wud  come  aftener,  Weelum,"  said 
Drumsheugh  hastily  ;  "  we  're  no  as  young  as  we  were, 
an'  we  micht  draw  thegither  mair.  It's  no  speakin' 
maks  freends.  .  .  .  Hoo  auld  are  ye  noo  ? " 

"  Seeventy-three  this  month,  an'  a'll  no  see  anither 
birthday;  ye 're  aulder,  Drum"  —  Maclure  only  was 


MILK  FOR  THE  PLOUGHMEN 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE  145 


so  privileged —  "  but  ye  're  a  hale  man  an'  gude  for 
twal  year  yet." 

"  Ye  micht  hae  been  the  same  yersel  if  ye  hadna 
been  a  senseless  fule  an'  sae  thrawn  (obstinate)  ye 
wudna  be  guided  by  onybody ;  but  if  ye  gang  cautious 
ye  'ill live  us  a'  oot  yet;  ye  're  no  like  the  same  man 


DRUMSHEUGH   AND  THE  DOCTOR  BY  THE  FIKE 


noo  'at  cam  in  tae  the  kitchen.  Leezbeth  wes  fleggit 
at  the  sicht  o'  ye,"  and  Drumsheugh  affected  mirth. 

"  Wes  she,  though?"  said  Maclure,  with  some 
relish.  "  A've  often  thocht  it  wud  tak  a  chairge  o' 
gunpooder  tae  pit  Leezbeth  aff  her  jundy  (ordinary 
course).  Hoo  lang  hes  she  been  wi'  ye?  A'  mind 
her  comin' ;  it  wes  aifter  yir  mither  deed  ;  that 's  a 
gude  while  past  noo." 

19 


i46      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


"Five  and  thirty  year  last  Martinmas;  she's  a 
Kildrummie  wumman,  but  a'  her  fouk  are  dead. 
Leezbeth 's  been  a  faithfu'  housekeeper,  an'  she 's 
an  able  wumman;  a've  naething  tae  say  against 
Leezbeth. 

"She's  a  graund  manager,"  continued  Drums- 
heugh  meditatively,  "  an'  there 's  no  been  mickle  lost 
here  since  she  cam;  a'll  say  that  for  her;  she  dis  her 
wark  accordin'  tae  her  licht,  but  it's  aye  scrapin'  wi' 
her,  and  the  best  o'  hoosekeepers  maks  a  cauld  hame. 

"  Weelum  —  "  and  then  he  stopped,  and  roused  the 
fire  into  a  blaze. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Maclure,  and  he  looked  kindly  at 
his  friend,  whose  face  was  averted. 

"  Wes  ye  gaein'  tae  say  onything?"  and  Maclure 
waited,  for  a  great  confidence  was  rare  in  Drumtochty. 

"  There  wes  something  happened  in  ma  life  lang 
syne  nae  man  kens,  an'  a'  want  tae  tell  ye,  but  no  the 
nicht,  for  ye 're  tired  an'  cast  doon.  Ye  'ill  come  in 
sune  again,  Weelum." 

"  The  mornin's  nicht,  gin  it  be  possible,"  and  then 
both  men  were  silent  for  a  space. 

The  wind  came  in  gusts,  roaring  in  the  chimney,  and 
dying  away  with  a  long  moan  across  the  fields,  while 
the  snow-drift  beat  against  the  window.  Drumsheugh's 
dog,  worn  out  with  following  his  master  through  the 
drifts,  lay  stretched  before  the  fire  sound  asleep,  but 
moved  an  ear  at  the  rattling  of  a  door  upstairs,  or  a 
sudden  spark  from  the  grate. 

Drumsheugh  gazed  long  into  the  red  caverns  and 
saw  former  things,  till  at  last  he  smiled  and  spake. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE  147 


"  Hoo  lang  is 't  since  ye  guddled  for  troot,  Weelum  ?  " 

"  Saxty  year  or  sae ;  div  ye  mind  yon  hole  in  the 
Sheuchie  burn,  whar  it  comes  doon  frae  the  muir? 
They  used  to  lie  and  feed  in  the  rin  o'  the  water. 

"  A'  wes  passin'  that  wy  laist  hairst,  an'  a'  took  a 
thocht  and  gied  ower  tae  the  bank.    The  oak  looks 


CUDDLING  FOR  TROUT 


juist  the  same,  an'  a'  keekit  through,  an'  if  there 
wesna  a  troot  ablow  the  big  stane.  If  a'  hedna  been 
sae  stiff  a'  vvud  hae  gien  doon  and  tried  ma  luck 
again." 

"  A'  ken  the  hole  fine,  Weelum,"  burst  out  Drums- 
heugh  ;  "  div  ye  mind  where  a'  catchit  yon  twa-punder 


148      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


in  the  dry  simmer?  it  wes  the  biggest  ever  taen  oot 
o'  the  Sheuchie ;  a'  telt  ye  a'  next  day  at  schule." 

"Ye  did  that,  an'  ye  blew  aboot  that  troot  for  the 
hale  winter,  but  nane  o'  us  ever  saw 't,  an'  it  wes  juist 
a  bare  half  pund  tae  begin  wi'  ;  it's  been  growin',  a' 
doot;  it  'ill  be  five  afore  ye  're  dune  wi't,  Drum." 

"  Nane  o'  yir  impidence,  Weelum.  A'  weighed  it 
in  Luckie  Simpson's  shop  as  a'  gied  hame,  an'  it  made 
twa  pund  as  sure  as  a'm  sittin'  here  ;  but  there  micht 
be  a  wecht  left  in  the  scale  wi't. 

"  Fishers  are  the  biggest  leears  a'  ever  cam  across, 
and  ye 've  dune  yir  best  the  nicht,  Drum ;  but  eh, 
man  guddlin'  wes  a  graund  ploy,"  and  the  doctor  got 
excited. 

"  A'  think  a'm  at  it  aince  mair,  wi'  ma  sleeves  up 
tae  the  oxters,  lying  on  ma  face,  wi'  naethin'  but  the 
een  ower  the  edge  o'  the  stane,  an'  slippin'  ma  hands 
intae  the  caller  water,  an'  the  rush  o'  the  troot,  and 
grippin'  the  soople  slidderin'  body  o't  an'  throwin'  't 
ower  yir  head,  wi'  the  red  spots  glistenin'  on  its 
white  belly;   it  wes  michty." 

"  Ay,  Weelum,  an'  even  missin'  't  wes  worth  while; 
tae  feel  it  shoot  atween  yir  hands  an'  see  it  dash  doon 
the  burn,  makin'  a  white  track  in  the  shallow  water, 
an'  ower  a  bit  fall  and  oot  o'  sicht  again  in  anither 
hole." 

They  rested  for  a  minute  to  revel  in  the  past,  and  in 
the  fire  the  two  boys  saw  water  running  over  gravel, 
and  deep,  cool  holes  beneath  overhanging  rocks,  and 
little  waterfalls,  and  birch  boughs  dipping  into  the 
pools,  and  speckled  trout  gleaming  on  the  grass. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE  149 


Maclure's  face  kindled  into  mirth,  and  he  turned 
in  his  chair. 

"  Ye  're  sayin'  naethin'  o'  the  day  when  the  burn 
vves  settlin'  aifter  a  spate,  and  ye  cam  tae  me  an' 
Sandie  Baxter  an'  Netherton's  brither  4  Squinty,'  an' 
temptit  us  tae  play  the  truant,  threepin'  ye  hed  seen 
the  troot  juist  swarmin'  in  the  holes." 

"  A'  tried  John  Baxter  tae,"  interrupted  Drums- 
heugh,  anxious  for  accuracy  since  they  had  begun 
the  story,  "  though  he  didna  come.  But  he  wudna 
tell  on 's  for  a'  that.  Hillocks  lat  it  oot  at  the  sight 
o'  the  tawse.  '  They  're  up  the  Sheuchie  aifter  the 
troot,'  he  roared,  an'  the  verra  lassies  cried  '  clype ' 
(tell  tale)  at  him  gaein'  hame." 

"  What  a  day  it  wes,  Drum  ;  a'  can  see  Sandie's 
heels  in  the  air  when  he  coupit  intae  the  black  hole 
abune  Gormack,  an'  you  pullin'  him  oot  by  the  seat 
o'  his  breeks,  an'  his  Latin  Reader,  'at  hed  fa'en  oot 
o'  his  pocket,  sailin'  doon  the  water,  an'  'Squinty' 
aifter  it,  scrammellin'  ower  the  stanes ; "  and  the 
doctor  laughed  aloud. 

"  Ye've  forgot  hoo  ye  sent  me  in  tae  beg  for  a 
piece  frae  the  gude  wife  at  Gormack,  an'  she  saw  the 
lave  o'  ye  coorin'  ahint  the  dyke,  an'  gied  us  a  flytin' 
for  playin'  truant." 

"  Fient  a  bit  o't,"  and  Maclure  took  up  the  running 
again ;  "  an'  then  she  got  a  sicht  o'  Sandie  like  a 
drooned  rat,  and  made  him  come  in  tae  dry  himsel, 
and  gied  us  pork  an'  oat  cake.  My  plate  hed  a  burn 
on  it  like  the  Sheuchie  —  a'  cud  draw  the  pattern  on 
a  sheet  o'  paper  till  this  day  —  that  wes  Gormack's 


150      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


mither ;  it 's  no  sae  lang  since  she  deed ;  a'  wes  wi' 
her  the  laist  nicht." 

"  An'  the  tawse  next  day  frae  the  auld  Dominie, 
him  'at  wes  afore  Domsie ;  he  hed  a  fine  swing.  A' 
think  a'  feel  the  nip  still,"  and  Drumsheugh  shuffled 
in  his  chair  ; "  an'  then  we  got  anither  lickin'  frae  oor 

faithers ;  but,  man," 
slapping  his  knee,  "  it 
wes  worth  it  a' ;  we  've 
never  hed  as  gude  a 
day  again." 

"  It 's  juist  like  yes- 
terday, Drum,  but  it 
cam  tae  an  end;  and  div 
ye  mind  hoo  we  were 
feared  tae  gae  hame, 
and  didna  start  till  the 
sun  wes  weel  doon 
ahint  Ben  Urtach? 

"Four  o's,"  resumed 
Maclure;  "an'  Sandie 
got  a  Russian  bayo- 
net through  his  breist 
fechtin'  ae  snawy  nicht  in  the  trenches,  an'  puir 
Squinty  deed  oot  in  Ameriky  wearyin'  for  the  Glen  an' 
wishin'  he  cud  be  buried  in  Drumtochty  kirkyaird. 
Fine  laddies  baith,  an'  that 's  twa  o'  the  fower 
truants  that  hae  gane  hame. 

"  You  an'  me,  Drum,  hed  the  farthest  road  tae 
traivel  that  nicht,  an'  we  're  the  laist  again  ;  the  sun 's 
settin'  for  us  tae  ;  we 've  hed  a  gude  lang  day,  an' 


t  f  ll| 


SANDIE  DRYING  HIMSELF  IN 
A  FARMHOUSE 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE  151 


ye  'ill  hae  a  vvhilie  aifter  me,  but  we  maun  follow  the 
ither  twa." 

"  Ye  're  richt,  Weelum,  aboot  the  end  o't,  which- 
ever gangs  first,"  said  Drumsheugh. 

Another  silence  fell  on  the  two  men,  and  both 
looked  steadfastly  into  the  fire,  till  the  dog  rose  and 
laid  his  head  on  Drumsheugh's  hand.  He  was  also 
getting  old,  and  now  had  no  other  desire  than  to  be 
with  his  master. 

Drumsheugh  moved  his  chair  into  the  shadow, 
and  sighed. 

"It's  no  the  same  though,  Weelum,  it's  no  the 
same  ava.  .  .  .  We  did  what  we  sudna,  an'  wes  feared 
tae  meet  oor  faithers,  nae  doot,  but  we  kent  it  wud 
be  waur  oot  on  the  cauld  hill,  an1  there  wes  a  house 
tae  shelter 's  at  ony  rate." 

Maclure  would  not  help,  and  Drumsheugh  went 
on  again  as  if  every  word  were  drawn  from  him  in 
agony. 

"We  dinna  ken  onything  aboot  .  .  . — and  he 
hesitated  —  "  aboot  .  .  .  the  ither  side.  A've  thocht 
o't  often  in  the  gloamin'  o'  a  simmer  nicht,  or  sittin' 
here  alane  by  the  fire  in  winter  time ;  a  man  may 
seem  naething  but  an  auld  miserly  fairmer,  an'  yet 
he  may  hae  his  ain  thochts. 

"  When  a'  wes  a  laddie,  the  doctor's  father  wes  in 
the  poopit,  an'  Dominie  Cameron  wes  in  the  schule, 
an'  yir  father  rode  up  an'  doon  the  Glen,  an'  they're 
a*  gane.  A'  can  see  at  a  time  in  kirk  the  face  that 
used  tae  be  at  the  end  of  ilka  seat,  an'  the  bairns  in 
the  middle,  an'  the  gude  wife  at  the  top :  there 's  no 


152      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


ane  a'  canna  bring  up  when  the  doctor's  at  the 
sermon. 

"  Wae 's  me,  the  auld  fouk  that  were  in  Burnbrae, 
an'  Hillocks,  an'  Whinnie  Knovve  are  a'  dead  and 
buried,  ma  ain  father  an'  mother  wi'  the  lave,  an' 
their  bairns  are  makin'  ready  tae  follow  them,  an' 
sune  the  'ill  be  anither  generation  in  oor  places." 

He  paused,  but  Maclure  knew  he  had  not  finished. 

"  That 's  no  the  warst  o't,  for  nae  body  wants  tae  live 
ower  lang,  till  he  be  cripple  an'  dottle  (crazy).  A' 
wud  raither  gang  as  sune  as  a'  cudna  manage  masel, 
but  ...  we  hev  nae  word  o'  them.  They 've  said 
gude-bye,  an'  gane  oot  o'  the  Glen,  an'  fouk  say 
they're  in  the  land  o'  the  leal.  It's  a  bonny  song, 
an'  a'  dinna  like  onybody  tae  see  me  when  it's  sung, 
but  .  .  .  wha  kens  for  certain  .  .  .  aboot  that  land?" 

Still  Maclure  made  no  sign. 

"The  sun  'ill  come  up  frae  Strathmore,  and  set 
abune  Glen  Urtach,  an'  the  Tochty  'ill  rin  as  it  dis 
this  nicht,  an'  the 'ill  be  fouk  sowin'  the  seed  in 
spring  and  githerin'  in  the  corn  in  hairst,  an'  a  congre- 
gation in  the  kirk,  but  we 'ill  be  awa'  an'  .  .  .  Weelum, 
wull  that  be  .  .  .  the  end  o'  us?  "  And  there  was  such 
a  tone  in  Drumsheugh's  voice  that  the  dog  whined 
and  licked  his  hand. 

"  No,  Drumsheugh,  it  'ill  no  be  the  end,"  said  the 
doctor  in  a  low,  quiet  voice,  that  hardly  sounded  like 
his  own.  "  A've  often  thocht  it 's  mair  like  the  begin- 
nin'.  Oor  forbears  are  oot  o'  sicht,  an'  a'  wudna 
want  tae  hae  them  back,  but  nae  man  'ill  ever  gar 
me  believe  the  kirkyaird  hauds  Drumtochty. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE  153 

"  Na,  na,  a've  watched  the  Glen  for  mony  a  year, 
an'  the  maist  hertsome  sicht  a'  hae  seen  is  the  makin' 
o'  men  an'  weemen.  They're  juist  thochtless  bairns 
tae  begin  wi',  as  we  were  oorsels,  but  they  're  no  dune 
wi'  schule  aifter  they  leave  Domsie. 

"  Wark  comes  first,  and  fechtin'  awa'  wi'  oor  cauld 
land  and  wringin'  eneuch  oot  o't  tae  pay  for  rent  an' 
livin'  pits  smeddum  (spirit)  into  a  man.  Syne  comes 
luve  tae  maist  o's,  an'  teaches  some  selfish,  shallow 
cratur  tae  play  the  man  for  a  wumman's  sake  ;  an' 
laist  comes  sorrow,  that  gars  the  loudest  o's  tae  haud 
his  peace. 

"  It's  a  lang  schulin',  but  it  hes  dune  its  wark  weel 
in  Drumtochty.  A'm  no  sayin'  oor  fouk  are  clever 
or  that  they  haena  fauts,  but  a'm  prood  to  hev  been 
born  and  lived  ma  days  in  the  Glen.  A'  dinna  be- 
lieve there  *s  a  leear  amang  us  —  except  maybe  Milton, 
an'  he  cam  frae  Muirtown  —  nor  a  cooard  wha  wudna 
mak  his  hand  keep  his  head ;  nor  a  wastrel,  when 
Charlie  Grant 's  in  Ameriky ;  nor  a  hard-herted  wratch 
'at  wudna  help  his  neebur. 

"It's  a  rouch  schule  the  Glen,  an'  sae  wes  puir 
Domsie's  ;  but,  sail,  he  sent  oot  lads  'at  did  us  credit 
in  the  warld,  an'  a'm  judgin',  Drumsheugh,  that  the 
scholars  that  gied  oot  o'  the  Glen  the  ither  road  'ill 
hae  their  chance  tae,  an'  pit  naebody  tae  shame.  Ye 
ken  a'  hevna  hed  muckle  time  for  releegion,  but  a 
body  gies  a  thocht  tae  the  ither  warld  at  a  time,  an' 
that 's  ma  ain  mind." 

"  Ye  're  maybe  no  far  wrang,  Weelum ;  it  soonds 
wise  like,  but  ...  ye  canna  be  sure." 


154      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


"  A've  seen  fouk  'at  were  sure,"  said  the  doctor, 
"an'  a'm  thankfu'  that  a'  kent  auld  Burnbrae.  He  wes 
a  strict  man,  an'  mony  a  lecture  he  gied  me  aboot 
gaein'  tae  kirk  an'  usin'  better  langidge,  but  a'  tell  ye, 
he  wes  the  richtsort;  nae  peetifu'  chaff  o'  heepocrisy 
aboot  him. 

"  A'  wes  wi'  him  at  his  deith  .  .  ." 

"  Did  ye  see  onything?  "  Drumsheugh  leaned  for- 
ward and  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

"  A'  saw  naething  but  a  gude  man  gaein'  oot  on  his 
lang  journey,  an'  a'  want  tae  see  nae  graunder  sicht. 

"  He  wesna  conscious,  an'  his  wife,  puir  wumman, 
wes  murnin'  that  she  wudna  get  a  last  look,  an'  John, 
him  'at 's  Burnbrae  noo,  wes  distressed  for  his  mither's 
sake. 

"  '  Say  the  name,'  for  a'  wes  holdin'  his  head,  '  an* 
he  'ill  hear;  '  but  a'  cudna ;  it  wesna  for  my  tongue. 

"So  he  said  it  into  his  father's  ear,  an'  Burnbrae 
opened  his  eyes,  and  githered  them  a'  in  a  smile,  an' 
a'  heard  twa  words. 

"  '  No  evil.'  He  wes  past  sayin'  fear.  .  .  .  Drums- 
heugh, a'  wud  .  .  .  tak  ma  chance  the  nicht  wi'  auld 
Burnbrae." 

"  Ma  mither  didna  ken  us  for  the  laist  twa  days," 
and  Drumsheugh  rested  his  head  on  his  hands. 

"  Ye  mind  the  bit  lassiky  "  —  Maclure  would  tell  all 
when  he  was  at  it  —  "  that  lived  wi'  Mary  Robertson 
and  Jamie  Soutar  made  sic  a  wark  aboot,  for  her 
mither  wes  dead  ;  she  wes  chokin'  wi'  her  tribble,  an' 
a'  took  her  on  ma  knee,  for  Daisy  and  me  were  aye 
chief. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  FIRESIDE  155 


"  'Am  a'  gaein'  tae  dee  the  day?'  she  said,  an'  a' 
cud  not  tell  a  lee  lookin'  intae  yon  een. 

"'Ye 're  no  feared,  dautie,'  a'  said;  '  ye  'ill  sune 
be  name.' 

"  '  Haud  me  ticht,  then,  Docksie'  — that  wes  her 
name  for  me  —  1  an'  mither  'ill  tak  me  oot  o'  yir  airms.' 
.  .  .  The  Almichty  wud  see  the  wee  lassie  wesna  pit 
tae  shame,  or  else  .  .  .  that 's  no  His  name. 

"The  wind's  doon,"  and  the  doctor  hurried  over  to 
the  window,  "  an'  the  mune  is  shinin'  clear  an'  sweet; 
a'll  need  tae  be  afif,  an'  a'll  hae  the  licht  instead  o' 
the  drift  aifter  a',  Drumsheugh." 

Nothing  passed  between  them  till  they  came  to 
the  main  road,  and  the  doctor  said  good-night. 

Then  Drumsheugh  stood  close  in  to  the  saddle, 
and  adjusted  a  stirrup  leather. 

"  You  an'  me  are  no  like  Burnbrae  and  the  bairnie, 
Weelum  ;  a'm  feared  at  times  aboot  .  .  .  the  home 
comin'." 

"  A'  dinna  wunner,  Drumsheugh,  a'm  often  the 
same  mascl ;  we  're  baith  truant  laddies,  and  maybe 
we  'ill  get  oor  paiks,  an'  it  'ill  dae  us  gude.  But  be 
that  as  it  may,  we  maun  juist  risk  it,  an'  a'm  houpin' 
the  Almichty  'ill  no  be  waur  tae  us  than  oor  mither 
when  the  sun  gaes  doon  and  the  nicht  wind  sweeps 
ower  the  hill." 


11 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  SECRET 

When  Leezbeth  brought  word  that  Dr.  Maclure 
had  ridden  into  the  "  close,"  Drumsheugh  knew  for 
what  end  he  had  come,  but  it  was  characteristic  of 
Drumtochty  that  after  they  had  exhausted  local  affairs, 
he  should  be  stricken  dumb  and  stare  into  the  fire 
with  averted  face.  For  a  space  the  doctor  sat  silent, 
because  we  respected  one  another's  souls  in  the  Glen, 
and  understood  the  agony  of  serious  speech,  but  at 
last  he  judged  it  right  to  give  assistance. 

"  Ye  said  laist  nicht  that  ye  hed  something  tae  say.'' 

"  A'm  comin'  tae  't ;  juist  gie  me  twa  meenuts 
mair."  But  it  was  ten  before  Drumsheugh  opened 
his  mouth,  although  he  arranged  himself  in  his  chair 
and  made  as  though  he  would  speak  three  times. 

"  Weelum,"  he  said  at  last,  and  then  he  stopped, 
for  his  courage  had  failed. 

"  A'm  hearin',  Drum;  tak  yir  ain  time;  the  fire's 
needin'  mendin',  "  and  the  light,  blazing  up  suddenly, 
showed  another  Drumsheugh  than  was  known  on 
Muirtown  market. 

"  It 's  no  easy,  Weelum,  tae  say  onything  that  gangs 
deeper  than  the  weather  an'  cattle  beasts."  Drums- 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  SECRET  157 


heugh  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  and  Mac- 
lure's  pity  was  stirred. 

"  Gin  ye  hae  dune  onything  wrang,  an'  ye  want  tae 
relieve  yir  mind,  ye  may  lippen  tae  me,  Drumsheugh, 
though  it  titch  yir  life.  A'  can  haud  ma  tongue,  an' 
a'm  a  leal  man, 

"A'  thocht  it  wesna  that,"  as  Drumsheugh  shook 
his  head  ;  "  a'm  jidgin'  that  ye  hae  a  sorrow  the  Glen 
disna  ken,  and  wud  like  an  auld  freend  tae  feel  the 
wecht  o't  wi'  ye." 

Drumslicugh  looked  as  if  that  was  nearer  the  mark, 
but  still  he  was  silent. 

"  A'  ken  what  ye  're  feelin'  for  a'  cudna  speak  masel," 
and  then  he  added,  at  the  sight  of  his  friend's  face, 
"  Dinna  gar  yirsel  speak  against  yir  wull.  We  'ill  say 
naethin'  mair  aboot  it  .  .  .  Did  ye  hear  o'  Hillocks 
coupin'  intae  the  drift  till  there  wcs  naethin'  seen  but 
his  heels,  and  Gormack  sayin',  '  Whar  are  ye  aff  tae 
noo,  Hillocks?  '  " 

"A'  maun  speak,"  burst  out  Drumsheugh;  "a've 
carried  ma  tribble  for  mair  than  thirty  year,  and  cud 
hae  borne  it  till  the  end,  but  ae  thing  a'  canna  stand, 
an'  that  is,  that  aither  you  or  me  dee  afore  a've 
cleared  ma  name." 

"  Yir  name  ?  "  and  the  doctor  regarded  Drumsheugh 
with  amazement. 

"  Ay,  ma  character;  a've  naethin'  else,  Weelum, 
naither  wife  nor  bairns,  so  a'm  jealous  o't,  though 
fouk  michtna  think  it. 

"  Noo,  gin  onybody  in  Muirtown  askit  ma  certee- 
ficat  o'  a  Drumtochty  neebur,  gie  me  his  answer," 


158      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


and  Drumsheugh  turned  suddenly  on  Maclure,  who 
was  much  confused. 

"  Nae  Drumtochty  man  vvud  say  ony  ill  o'  ye ;  he 
daurna,  forye've  gien  him  nae  occasion,  an'  ye  surely 
ken  that  yirsel  withoot  askin'."  But  Drumsheugh 
was  still  waiting. 

"  He  micht  say  that  ye  were  juist  a  wee,"  and  then 
he  broke  off,  "  but  what  need  ye  care  for  the  havers 
of  a  market?  fouk  'ill  hae  their  joke." 

"  Ye  said  a  wee;  what  is  't,  Weelum?"  and  the 
doctor  saw  there  was  to  be  no  escape. 

"  Weel,  they  micht  maybe  be  sayin'  behind  yir 
back,  Drum,  what  some  o'  them  wud  say  tae  yir  face, 
meanin'  nae  evil,  ye  ken,  that  ye  were  .  .  .  carefu', 
in  fact,  an'  .  .  .  keen  aboot  the  bawbees.  Naethin' 
mair  nor  worse  than  that,  as  a'm  sittin'  here." 

"  Naethin'  mair,  said  ye?"  Drumsheugh  spoke  with 
much  bitterness  —  "  an'  is  yon  little  ?  '  Carefu'  ; '  ye  're 
a  gude-hearted  man,  Weelum  ;  miser's  nearer  it,  a'm 
dootin',  a  wratch  that  'ill  hae  the  laist  penny  in  a 
bargain,  and  no  spend  a  saxpence  gin  he  can  keep 
it." 

Maclure  saw  it  was  not  a  time  to  speak. 

"  They 've  hed  mony  a  lauch  in  the  train  ower  ma 
tigs  wi'  the  dealers,  an'  some  o'  them  wud  hae  like 
tae  hev  cam  aff  as  weel  —  a  cratur  like  Milton ;  but 
what  dis  Burnbrae,  'at  coonted  his  verra  livin'  less 
than  his  principles,  or  auld  Domsie,  that's  dead  an' 
gane  noo,  'at  wud  hae  spent  his  laist  shillin*  sendin' 
a  laddie  tae  the  College  — he  gied  it  tae  me  aince  het, 
like  the  man  he  wes — or  the  minister,  wha  wud  dee 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  SECRET  159 

raither  than  condescend  tae  a  meanness,  or  what  can 
.  .  .  Marget  Hoo  think  o'  me  ?  "  and  the  wail  in  Drums- 
heugh's  voice  went  to  the  heart  of  Maclure. 

"  Dinna  tak  on  like  this,  Drum  ;  it's  waesome  tae 
hear  ye,  an'  it 's  clean  havers  ye  're  speakin'  the  nicht. 
Didna  Domsie  get  mony  a  note  frae  ye  for  his  college 
laddies?  —  a've  heard  him  on 't  —  an'  it  wes  you  'at 


THE  KILDRDMMIE  TRAIN 


paid  Geordie  Hoo's  fees,  an'  wha  wes  't  brocht  Sir 
George  an'  savit  Annie  Mitchell's  life  ?" 

"  That  didna  cost  me  muckle  in  the  end,  sin'  it  wes 
your  daein'  an'  no  mine ;  an'  as  for  the  bit  fees  for  the 
puir  scholars,  they  were  naethin'  ava. 

"  Na,  na,  Weelum,  it 'ill  no  dae.  A'  ken  the  hert  o' 
ye  weel,  an*  ye  'ill  stan'  by  yir  freend  through  fair  m 


i6o      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


foul;  but  a'm  gaein'  tae  clear  things  up  aince  for  a'; 
a'll  never  gang  through  this  again. 

"  It 's  no  the  Glen  a'm  thinkin'  aboot  the  nicht ;  a' 
wud  like  tae  hae  their  gude  opinion,  an'  a'm  no  what 
they're  considerin'  me,  but  a'  canna  gie  them  the 
facts  o'  the  case,  an'  .  .  .  a'  maun  juist  dee  as  a'  hev 
lived. 

"  What  cuts  me  tae  the  hert  is  that  the  tvva  fouk  a' 
luve  sud  hae  reason  to  jidge  me  a  miser  ;  ane  o!  them 
wull  never  ken  her  mistake,  but  a'll  pit  masel  richt 
wi'  the  ither.  Weelum,  for  what  div  ye  think  a've 
been  scrapin'  for  a'  thae  years?" 

"  Weel,  gin  ye  wull  hae  ma  mind,"  said  the  doctor 
slowly,  "  a'  believed  ye  hed  been  crossed  in  luve,  for 
ye  telt  me  as  much  yersel.  .  .  ." 

"  Ye 're  richt,  Weelum  ;  a'll  tell  ye  mair  the  nicht; 
gang  on." 

"  It  cam  tae  ma  mind  that  ye  turned  tae  bargainin' 
an'  savin',  no  for  greed  - —  a'  kent  there  wes  nae  greed 
in  ye  ;  div  ye  suppose  a'  cudna  tell  the  differ  atween 
ma  freend  an'  Milton  ?  —  but  for  a  troke  tae  keep  yir 
mind  aflf  .  .  .  aflf  yir  sorrow." 

"  Thank  ye,  Weelum,  thank  ye  kindly,  but  it  wesna 
even  on  accoont  o'  that  a've  lived  barer  than  ony 
plooman  for  the  best  part  o'  ma  life;  a'  tell  ye, 
beyond  the  stockin'  on  ma  fairm  a'm  no  worth  twa 
hunder  pund  this  nicht. 

"  It  wes  for  anither  a'  githered,  an'  as  fast  as  I  got 
the  gear  a'  gied  it  awa',"  and  Drumsheugh  sprang  to 
his  feet,  his  eyes  shining  ;  "  it  wes  for  hive's  sake  a' 
haggled  an'  schemed  an'  stairved  an'  toiled  till  a've 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  SECRET  161 


been  a  byword  at  kirk  and  market  for  nearness ;  a' 
did  it  a'  an'  bore  it  a'  for  ma  luve,  an'  for  .  .  .  ma 
luve  a'  wud  hae  dune  ten  times  mair. 

"  Did  ye  ken  wha  it  wes,  Weelum?  " 

"Ye  never  mentioned  her  name,  but  a'  jaloosed, 
an'  there 's  nane  like  her  in  the  Glen  " 

"  No,  nor  in  braid  Scotland  for  me  !  She  'ill  aye  be 
the  bonniest  as  weel  as  the  noblest  o'  weemen  in  ma 
een  till  they  be  stickit  in  deith.  But  ye  never  saw 
Marget  in  her  bloom,  when  the  blossom  wes  on  the 
tree,  for  a'  mind  ye  were  awa'  in  Edinburgh  thae 
years,  learnin'  yir  business. 

"A'  left  the  schule  afore  she  cam,  an'  the  first  time 
a'  ever  kent  Marget  richt  wes  the  day  she  settled  wi' 
her  mither  in  the  cottar's  hoose  on  Drumsheugh,  an' 
she's  hed  ma  hert  sin'  that  'oor. 

"  It  wesna  her  winsome  face  nor  her  gentle  ways 
that  drew  me,  Weelum  ;  it  wes  .  .  .  her  soul,  the 
gudeness  'at  lookit  oot  on  the  warld  through  yon 
grey  een,  sae  serious,  thochtfu',  kindly. 

"  Nae  man  cud  say  a  rouch  word  or  hae  a  ill  thocht 
in  her  presence  ;  she  made  ye  better  juist  tae  hear 
her  speak  an'  stan'  aside  her  at  the  wark. 

"A'  hardly  ever  spoke  tae  her  for  the  three  year 
she  wes  wi's,  an'  a'  said  na  word  o'  luve.  A*  houpit 
some  day  tae  win  her,  an'  a'  wes  mair  than  content 
tae  hae  her  near  me.  Thae  years  were  bitter  tae  me 
aifterwards,  but,  man,  a'  wudna  be  withoot  them  noo  ; 
they  're  a'  the  time  a'  ever  hed  wi'  Marget. 

"  A'm  a-wearyin'  ye,  Weelum,  wi'  what  can  be  little 
mair  than  havers  tae  anither  man."    But  at  the  look 


i62      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


on  the  doctor's  face,  he  added,  "A'll  tell  ye  a'  then, 
an'  .  .  .  a'll  never  mention  her  name  again.  Ye  're 
the  only  man  ever  heard  me  say  '  Marget '  like 
this. 

"  Weelum,  a'  vves  a  man  thae  days,  an'  thochts  cam 
tae  me  'at  gared  the  hert  leap  in  ma  breist,  an'  ma 
blude  rin  like  the  Tochty  in  spate.  When  a'  drave 
the  scythe  through  the  corn  in  hairst,  an'  Marget 
lifted  the  gowden  swathe  ahint  me,  a'  said,  '  This  is 
hoo  a'll  toil  an'  fecht  for  her  a'  the  days  o'  oor  life  ; ' 
an'  when  she  gied  me  the  sheaves  at  the  mill  for  the 
threshin',  4  This  is  hoo  she  'ill  bring  a'  guid  things  tae 
ma  hame.' 

"  Aince  her  hand  touched  mine  —  a'  see  a  withered 
forget-me-not  among  the  aits  this  meenut  —  an'  .  .  . 
that  wes  the  only  time  a'  ever  hed  her  hand  in  mine 
.  .  .  a'  hoddit  the  floor,  an',  Weelum,  a'  hev  it  tae 
this  day. 

"  There 's  a  stile  on  the  road  tae  the  hill,  an'  a  haw- 
thorn-tree at  the  side  o't;  it  wes  there  she  met  ae 
sweet  simmer  evenin',  when  the  corn  wes  turnin' 
yellow,  an'  telt  me  they  wud  be  leavin'  their  hoose 
at  Martinmas.  Her  face  hed  a  licht  on  it  a'  hed 
never  seen.  'A'm  tae  be  marriet,'  she  said,  'tae 
William  Howe. 

"  Puir  lad,  puir  lad,  aifter  a'  yir  houps ;  did  ye  lat 
her  ken  ? " 

"  Na,  na ;  it  wes  ower  late,  an'  wud  only  hae  vexed 
her.  Howe  and  her  hed  been  bairns  thegither,  an' 
a've  heard  he  wes  kind  tae  her  father  when  he  wes 
sober  (weakly),  an'  so  ...  he  got  her  hert.  A' 


AT  THE  STILE 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  SECRET  165 


cudna  hae  changed  her,  but  a'  micht  hae  made  her 
meeserable. 

"  A'  leaned  ower  that  stile  for  twa  lang  oors. 
Mony  a  time  a've  been  there  sin'  then,  by  nicht  an' 
day.  Hoo  the  Glen  wud  lauch,  for  a'm  no  the  man 
they  see.  A'  saw  the  sun  gae  doon  that  nicht,  an'  a' 
felt  the  darkness  fa'  on  me,  an'  a'  kent  the  licht  hed 
gane  oot  o'  ma  life  for  ever." 

"  Ye  carried  yersel  like  a  man,  though,"  and  the 
doctor's  voice  was  full  of  pride,  "  but  ye 've  hed  a  sair 
battle,  Drum,  an'  nae  man  tae  say  weel  dune." 

"  Dinna  speak  that  wy,  Weelum,  for  a'm  no  sae 
gude  as  ye  're  thinkin'  ;  frae  that  'oor  tae  Geordie's 
illness  a'  never  spak  ae  word  o'  kindness  tae  Marget, 
an'  gin  hatred  wud  hae  killed  him,  she  wud  hae  lost 
her  bridegroom. 

"  Gude  forgie  me,"  and  the  drops  stood  on  Drums- 
heugh's  forehead.  "  When  Hoo  cudna  pay,  and  he 
wes  tae  be  turned  oot  of  Whinnie  Knowe,  a'  lauched 
tae  masel,  though  there  isna  a  kinder,  simpler  hert  in 
the  Glen  than  puir  Whinnie's.  There  maun  be  some 
truth  in  thae  auld  stories  aboot  a  deevil ;  he  hed  an 
awfu'  grup  o'  me  the  end  o'  that  year. 

"  But  a'  never  hatit  her  ;  a'  think  a've  luvit  her  mair 
every  year ;  and  when  a'  thocht  o'  her  trachlin'  in 
some  bit  hoosie  as  a  plooman's  wife,  wha  wes  fit  for 
a  castle,  ma  hert  was  melted. 

"  Gin  she  hed  gien  me  her  luve,  wha  never  knew  a' 
wantit  it,  a'  wud  hae  spilt  ma  blude  afore  she  felt 
care,  an'  though  ye  see  me  naethin'  but  a  cankered, 
contrackit,  auld  carle  this  day,  a'  wud  hae  made  her 


166      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


happy  aince,  Weelum.  A'  wes  different  when  a'  wes 
young,"  and  Drumsheugh  appealed  to  his  friend. 

"  Dinna  misca'  yersel  tae  me,  Drum;  it 's  nae  use," 
said  the  doctor,  with  a  shaky  voice. 

"Weel,  it  wesna  tae  be,"  resumed  Drumsheugh 
after  a  little  ;  "  a'  cudna  be  her  man,  but  it  seemed 
tae  me  ae  day  that  a'  micht  work  for  Marget  a'  the 
same,  an'  naebody  wud  ken.  So  a'  gied  intae  Muir- 
town  an'  got  a  writer  " 

The  doctor  sprang  to  his  feet  in  such  excitement 
as  was  hardly  known  in  Drumtochty. 

"  What  a  fule  ye 've  made  o'  the  Glen,  Drumsheugh, 
and  what  a  heepocrite  ye 've  been.  It  wes  you  then 
that  sent  hame  the  money  frae  Ameriky  'at  cleared 
Whinnie's  feet  and  set  Marget  and  him  up  bien 
(plentiful)  like  on  their  merrid,"  and  then  Maclure 
could  do  the  rest  for  himself  without  assistance. 

"  It  wud  be  you  tae  'at  started  Whinnie  again  aifter 
the  Pleuro  took  his  cattle,  for  he  wes  aye  an  unlucky 
wratch,  an'  if  it  wesna  you  that  deed  oot  in  New  York 
and  savit  him  five  years  ago,  when  the  stupid  body 
pit  his  name  tae  Piggie's  bill.  It's  you  'at  wes  Whin- 
nie's far-awa'  cousin,  wha  hed  gotten  rich  and  sent 
hame  help  through  the  lawyer,  an'  naebody  suspeckit 
onything. 

"  Drumsheugh  "  —  and  the  doctor,  who  had  been 
finding  the  room  too  small  for  him,  came  to  a  halt 
opposite  his  friend  —  "  ye  're  the  maist  accomplished 
leear  'at 's  ever  been  born  in  Drumtochty,  an'  .  .  .  the 
best  man  a'  ever  saw.  Eh,  Drum,"  and  Maclure's 
voice  sank,  "  hoo  little  we  kent  ye.    It 's  an  awfu' 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  SECRET  167 


peety  Domsie  didna  hear  o'  this  afore  he  slippit 
awa';  a'  can  see  him  straichtenin'  himsel  at  the  story. 
Jamie  Soutar  'ill  be  michty  when  he  gets  a  haud 
o't.  .  . 

Twice  Drumsheugh  had  tried  to  interrupt  Maclure 
and  failed,  but  now  he  brought  his  hand  down  upon 
the  table. 

"  Wud  ye  daur,  Weelum,  tae  mention  ae  word  a' 
hae  telt  ye  ootside  this  room?  gin  a'  thocht  he  wes 
the  man  "    And  Drumsheugh's  face  was  blazing. 

"  Quiet,  man,  quiet !  Ye  ken  a'  wudna  withoot  yir 
wull;  but  juist  ae  man,  Jamie  Soutar.  Ye  'ill  lat  me 
share  't  wi'  Jamie." 

"No  even  Jamie;  an'  a'm  ashamed  tae  hae  telt 
yersel,  for  it  looks  like  boastin'  ;  an'  aifter  a'  it  wes  a 
bit  o'  comfort  tae  me  in  ma  cauldrife  life. 

"It's  been  a  gey  lang  trial,  Weelum  ;  ye  canna 
think  what  it  wes  tae  see  her  sittin'  in  the  kirk  ilka 
Sabbath  wi'  her  man,  tae  follow  her  face  in  the 
Psalms,  tae  catch  her  een  in  the  Saicrament,  an'  tae 
ken  that  a'  never  wud  say  '  Marget '  tae  her  in  luve. 

"  For  thirty  year  an'  mair  a've  studied  her,  an'  seen 
her  broon  hair  that  wes  like  gowd  in  the  sunlight  turn 
grey,  and  care  score  lines  on  her  face,  but  every  year 
she' s  comelier  in  ma  een. 

"  Whinnie  telt  us  his  tribble  aboot  the  bill  in  the 
kirkyard,  an'  a'  saw  the  marks  o't  in  her  look. 
There  wes  a  tear  ran  doon  her  cheek  in  the  prayer, 
an'  a'  .  .  .  cud  hae  grat  wi'  her,  an'  then  ma  hert 
loupit  wi'  joy,  for  a'  thocht  there  '11  be  nae  tear  next 
Sabbath. 


1 68      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


"Whinnie  got  the  siller  frae  his  .  .  .  cousin,  ye 
ken,  through  the  week,  an'  settled  his  debt  on 
Friday.  A'  met  him  on  the  street,  an'  made  him 
buy  a  silk  goon  for  Marget:  ...  a'  gied  wi'  him  tae 
choose  it,  for  he's  little  jidgment,  Whinnie." 

"  A'  wes  in  the  train  that  day  masel,"  broke  in  the 
doctor,  "  an'  a'  mind  Hillocks  daffin'  wi'  ye  that  nae 
wumman  cud  get  a  goon  oot  o' you.  Sic  fules  an' 
waur." 

"A'  didna  mind  that,  no  ae  straw,  Weelum,  for 
Marget  wes  ten  year  younger  next  Sabbath,  an'  she 
wore  ma  goon  on  the  Saicrament.  A'  kent  what 
bocht  it,  an'  that  was  eneuch  for  me. 

"  It  didna  maitter  what  the  Glen  said,  but  ae  thing 
gied  tae  ma  hert,  an'  thet  wes  Marget's  thocht  o'  me 
.  .  .  but  a'  daurna  clear  masel. 

"  We  were  stannin'  thegither  ae  Sabbath"  —  Drums- 
heugh  spoke  as  one  giving  a  painful  memory,  on 
which  he  had  often  brooded  —  "  an'  gaein'  ower  the 
market,  an'  Hillocks  says,  'A'  dinna  ken  the  man  or 
wumman  'at  'ill  get  a  bawbee  oot  o'  you,  Drumsheugh. 
Ye  're  the  hardest  lad  in  ten  parishes.' 

"  Marget  passed  that  meenut  tae  the  kirk,  an'  .  .  . 
a'  saw  her  look.  Na,  it  wesna  scorn,  nor  peety;  it 
wes  sorrow.  .  .  .  This  wes  a  bien  hoose  in  the  auld  day 
when  she  wes  on  the  fairm,  an'  she  wes  wae  tae  see  sic 
a  change  in  me.  A'  hed  tae  borrow  the  money  through 
the  lawyer,  ye  ken,  an'  it  wes  a  fecht  payin'  it  wi' 
interest.  Aye,  but  it  wes  a  pleesure  tae,  a'  that  a'll 
ever  hev,  Weelum.  ..." 

"  Did  ye  never  want  tae  .  .  .  tell  her?"  and  the 
doctor  looked  curiously  at  Drumsheugh. 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  SECRET  169 


"  Juist  aince,  Weelum,  in  her  gairden,  an'  the  day 
Geordie  deed.  Marget  thankit  me  for  the  college 
fees  and  bit  expenses  a'  hed  paid.  '  A  father  cudna 
hae  been  kinder  tae  ma  laddie,'  she  said,  an'  she  laid 
her  hand  on  ma  airm.  1  Ye  're  a  gude  man,  a'  see  it 
clear  this  day,  an'  .  .  .  ma  hert  is  .  .  .  warm  tae  ye.' 
A'  ran  oot  o'  the  gairden.  A'  micht  hae  broken 
doon.  Oh,  gin  Geordie  hed  been  ma  ain  laddie  an' 
Marget  .  .  .  ma  wife." 

Maclure  waited  a  little,  and  then  he  quietly  left,  but 
first  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder  to  show 
that  he  understood. 

After  he  had  gone,  Drumsheugh  opened  his  desk 
and  took  out  a  withered  flower.  He  pressed  it  twice 
to  his  lips,  and  each  time  he  said  Marget  with  a  sob 
that  rent  his  heart.    It  was  the  forget-me-not. 


Ill 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD 

People  tell  us  that  if  you  commit  a  secret  to  a 
dweller  in  the  city,  and  exact  pledges  of  faithfulness, 
the  confidence  will  be  proclaimed  on  the  housetops 
within  twenty-four  hours,  and  yet  that  no  charge  of 
treachery  can  be  brought  against  your  friend.  He 
has  simply  succumbed  to  the  conflict  between  the 
habit  of  free  trade  in  speech  and  the  sudden  embargo 
on  one  article.  Secret  was  engraved  on  his  face  and 
oozed  from  the  skirts  of  his  garments,  so  that  every 
conversational  detective  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  man 
was  carrying  treasure,  and  seized  it  at  his  will. 

When  one  told  a  secret  thing  to  his  neighbour  in 
Drumtochty,  it  did  not  make  a  ripple  on  the  hearer's 
face,  and  it  disappeared  as  into  a  deep  well.  "  Ay, 
ay"  was  absolutely  necessary  as  an  assurance  of  at- 
tention, and  the  farthest  expression  of  surprise  did 
not  go  beyond,  "That  wesna  chancy."  Whether  a 
Drumtochty  man  ever  turned  over  secrets  in  the  re- 
cesses of  his  mind,  no  one  can  tell,  but  when  Jamie 
Soutar,  after  an  hour's  silence,  one  evening  withdrew 
his  pipe  and  said  "  Sail  "  with  marked  emphasis,  it 
occurred  to  me  that  he  may  have  been  digesting  an 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD  171 


event.  Perhaps  the  law  of  silence  was  never  broken 
except  once,  but  that  was  on  a  royal  scale,  when 
William  Maclure  indirectly  let  out  the  romance  of 
Drumsheugh's  love  to  Marget  Howe,  and  afterwards 
was  forgiven  by  his  friend. 

Marget  had  come  to  visit  the  doctor  about  a  month 
before  he  died,  bearing  gifts,  and  after  a  while  their 
conversation  turned  to  George. 

"  Dinna  speak  aboot  ma  traivellin'  tae  see  ye," 
Marget  said ;  "  there 's  no  a  body  in  the  Glen  but  is 
behaddit  tae  ye,  an'  a'  can  never  forget  what  ye  did 
for  ma  laddie  yon  lang  summer-time." 

"  A'  did  naethin',  an'  nae  man  can  dae  muckle  in 
that  waesome  tribble.  It  aye  taks  the  cleverest 
laddies  an'  the  bonniest  lassies ;  but  a'  never  hed  a 
heavier  hert  than  when  a'  saw  Geordie's  face  that 
aifternoon.    There 's  nae  fechtin'  decline." 

"  Ye  mak  ower  little  o'  yir  help,  doctor;  it  wes  you 
'at  savit  him  frae  pain  an'  keepit  his  mind  clear. 
Withoot  you  he  cudna  workit  on  tae  the  end  or  seen 
his  freends.  A'  the  Glen  cam  up  tae  speir  for  him, 
and  say  a  cheery  word  tae  their  scholar. 

"  Did  a'  ever  tell  ye  that  Posty  wud  gang  roond  a 
gude  half  mile  oot  o'  his  road  gin  he  hed  a  letter  for 
Geordie  juist  tae  pit  it  in  his  hands  himsel?  and 
Posty 's  a  better  man  sin  then ;  but  wha  div  ye  think 
wes  kindest  aifter  Domsie  an*  yersel?  " 

"  Wha  wes 't  ?"  but  Maclure  lifted  his  head,  as  if 
he  had  already  heard  the  name. 

"  Ay,  ye  're  richt,"  answering  the  look  of  his  friend, 
"  Drumsheugh  it  wes,  an'  a'  that  simmer  he  wes  sae 


172      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


gentle  and  thochtfu'  the  Glen  wudna  hae  kent  him 
in  oor  gairden. 

"  Ye  've  seen  him  there  yersel,  but  wud  ye  believe 
't,  he  cam  three  times  a  week,  and  never  empty- 
handed.  Ae  day  it  wud  be  some  tasty  bit  frae  Muir- 
town  tae  gar  Geordie  eat,  another  it  wud  be  a  buke 
the  laddie  had  wantit  tae  buy  at  College,  an'  a  month 
afore  Geordie  left  us,  if  Drumsheugh  didna  come  up 
ae  Saiturday  wi'  a  parcel  he  had  gotten  a'  the  way 
frae  London. 

"  1  Whatna  place  is  this,  Geordie? '  an'  he  taks  aff 
the  cover  an'  holds  up  the  picture.  It  wud  hae  dune 
ye  gude  tae  hae  seen  the  licht  in  the  laddie's  een. 
'  Athens,'  he  cried,  an'  then  he  reached  oot  his  white 
hand  tae  Drumsheugh,  but  naethin'  wes  said. 

"They  were  at  it  the  hale  forenoon,  Geordie 
showin'  the  Temple  the  Greeks  set  up  tae  Wisdom, 
an'  the  theatre  in  the  shadow  of  the  hill  whar  the 
Greek  prophets  preached  their  sermons ;  an'  as  a' 
gied  oot  an'  in,  Geordie  wud  read  a  bonnie  bit,  and 
Domsie  himsel  cudna  hae  been  mair  interested  than 
Drumsheugh.  The  deem'  scholar  an'  the  auld 
fairmer.  .  .  ." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Maclure. 

u  Ae  story  Geordie  telt  me  never  ran  dry  wi' 
Drumsheugh,  an'  he  aye  askit  tae  hear  it  as  a  treat 
till  the  laddie  grew  ower  sober —  aboot  twa  lovers  in 
the  auld  days,  that  were  divided  by  an  airm  o'  the 
sea,  whar  the  water  ran  in  a  constant  spate,  and  the 
lad  hed  tae  sweem  across  tae  see  his  lass.  She  held 
a  licht  on  high  tae  guide  him,  an'  at  the  sicht  o't  he 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD  173 


cared  naethin'  for  the  danger;  but  ae  nicht  the  cauld, 
peetiless  water  gied  ower  his  head,  and  her  torch 
burned  oot  Puir  faithfu'  lass,  she  flung  hersel  into 
the  black  flood,  and  deith  jined  them  where  there 's 
nae  partin'." 

"  He  likit  that,  did  he?"  said  Maclure,  with  a  tone 
in  his  voice,  and  looking  at  Marget  curiously. 

"  Best  o*  a'  the  ancient  things  George  gied  him  in 
the  gairden,  an'  ae  day  he  nearly  grat,  but  it  wesna 
for  their  deith. 

"  '  Na,  na,'  he  said  tae  George,  1  a'  coont  him  happy, 
for  he  hed  a  reward  for  the  black  crossin' ;  laddie, 
mony  a  man  wud  be  wullin'  tae  dee  gin  he  wes  hived. 
What  think  ye  o'  a  man  fechtin'  through  the  ford  a' 
his  life  wi'  nae  kindly  licht?' 

"  Geordie  wes  wae  for  him,  an'  telt  me  in  the  gloam- 
in',  an'  it  set  me  thinkin'.  Cud  it  be  that  puir 
Drumshcugh  micht  hac  hived  an'  been  refused,  an' 
naebody  kent  o't?  Nane  but  the  Almichty  sees  the 
sorrow  in  ilka  hert,  an'  them  'at  suffers  maist  says 
least. 

"  It  cam  tae  me  that  he  must  hae  hived,  for  he  wes 
that  conseederate  wi'  Geordie,  sae  wummanlike  in  his 
manner  wi'  the  pillows  and  shawls,  sae  wilie  in  findin' 
oot  what  wud  please  the  laddie ;  he  learned  yon  in 
anither  place  than  Muirtown  Market.  Did  ye  .  .  . 
ever  hear  onything,  doctor?  It's  no  for  clashin' 
(gossip)  a'  wud  ask,  but  for  peety  an'  his  gudeness 
tae  ma  bairn." 

"Is't  likely  he  wud  tell  ony  man,  even  though  he 
be  his  freend?"  and  Maclure  fenced  bravely,  "did  ye 


174      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


hear  naethin'  in  the  auld  days  when  ye  wes  on 
Drumsheugh?  " 

"  No  a  whisper ;  he  wes  never  in  the  mooth  o'  the 
Glen,  an'  he  wesna  the  same  then ;  he  wes  quiet  and 
couthy,  ceevil  tae  a'  the  workin'  fouk ;  there  wes  nae 
meanness  in  Drumsheugh  in  thae  days.  A've  often 
thocht  nae  man  in  a*  the  Glen  wud  hae  made  a  better 
husband  tae  some  gude  wumman  than  Drumsheugh. 
It  passes  me  hoo  he  turned  sae  hard  and  near  for 
thirty  years.  But  dinna  ye  think  the  rael  Drums- 
heugh has  come  oot  again?" 

The  doctor  seemed  to  be  restraining  speech. 

"  He's  no  an  ordinary  man,  whatever  the  Glen  may 
think,"  and  Marget  seemed  to  be  meditating.  "  Noo 
he  wudna  enter  the  hoose,  an'  he  wes  that  agitat  that 
aince  when  a'  brocht  him  his  tea  he  let  the  cup  drop 
on  the  graivel.  Be  sure  there 's  twa  fouk  in  every  ane 
o's  —  ae  Drumsheugh  'at  focht  wi'  the  dealers  an' 
lived  like  a  miser,  an'  anither  that  gied  the  money 
for  Tammas  Mitchell's  wife  an'  nursit  ma  laddie." 

Maclure  would  have  been  sadly  tried  in  any  case, 
but  it  was  only  a  week  ago  Drumsheugh  had  made 
his  confession.  Besides,  he  was  near  the  end,  and 
his  heart  was  jealous  for  his  friend.  It  seemed  the 
worst  treachery  to  be  silent. 

"There's  juist  ae  Drumsheugh,  Marget  Hoo,  aa 
ye  're  a  leevin'  wumman,  him  ye  saw  in  the  gairden, 
wha  wud  hae  denied  himsel  a  meal  o'  meat  tae  get 
thae  pictures  for  yir  ...  for  Geordie. 

"  The  Glen  disna  ken  Drumsheugh,  and  never  wull 
this  side  o'  the  grave,"  and  the  doctor's  voice  was 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD  175 


ringing  with  passion,  and  something  like  tears  were 
in  his  eyes;  "  but  gin  there  be  a  jidgment  an'  .  .  . 
books  be  opened,  the  'ill  be  ane  for  Drumtochty,  and 
the  bravest  page  in  it  'ill  be  Drumsheugh's. 

"  Ye  're  astonished,  an'  it 's  nae  wunder  "  —  for  the 
look  in  Marget's  grey  eyes  demanded  more  —  "  but 
what  a'  say  is  true.  It  hes  never  been  for  himsel 
he  's  pinched  an'  bargained  ;  it  wes  for  .  .  .  for  a' 
freend  he  wantit  tae  help,  an'  that  wes  aye  in  tribble. 
He  thocht  'at  it  micht  .  .  .  hurt  his  freend's  feelin's 
and  pit  him  tae  shame  in  his  pairish  gin  it  were  kent, 
so  he  took  the  shame  himsel.  A'  daurna  tell  ye 
mair,  for  it  wud  be  brakin'  bonds  atween  man  and 
man,  but  ye 've  herd  eneuch  tae  clear  Drumsheugh's 
name  wi'  ae  wumman." 

"  Mair  than  cleared,  doctor,"  and  Marget's  face 
glowed,  "  far  mair,  for  ye've  shown  me  that  the  Ser- 
mon on  the  Mount  is  no  a  dead  letter  the  day,  an' 
ye 've  lifted  the  clood  frae  a  gude  man.  Noo  a'll  juist 
hae  the  rael  Drumsheugh,  Geordie's  Drumsheugh," 
and  again  Marget  thanked  Maclure  afresh. 

For  the  moment  the  heroism  of  the  deed  had  carried 
her  away,  but  as  she  went  home  the  pity  of  it  all 
came  over  her.  For  the  best  part  of  his  life  had  this 
man  been  toiling  and  suffering,  all  that  another  might 
have  comfort,  and  all  this  travail  without  the  recom- 
pense of  love.  What  patience,  humility,  tenderness, 
sacrifice  lay  in  unsuspected  people.  How  long?  .  .  . 
Perhaps  thirty  years,  and  no  one  knew,  and  no  one 
said,  "  Well  done  !  "  He  had  veiled  his  good  deeds 
well,  and  accepted  many  a  jest  that  must  have  cut 


176      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


him  to  the  quick.  Marget's  heart  began  to  warm  to 
this  unassuming  man  as  it  had  not  done  even  by 
George's  chair. 

The  footpath  from  the  doctor's  to  Whinnie  Knowe 
passed  along  the  front  of  the  hill  above  the  farm  of 
Drumsheugh,  and  Marget  came  to  the  cottage  where 


marget's  old  cottage  home 


she  had  lived  with  her  mother  in  the  former  time.  It 
was  empty,  and  she  went  into  the  kitchen.  How 
home-like  it  had  been  in  those  days,  and  warm,  even 
in  winter,  for  Drumsheugh  had  made  the  wright  board 
over  the  roof  and  put  in  new  windows.  Her  mother 
was  never  weary  speaking  of  his  kindness,  yet  they 
were  only  working  people.  The  snow  had  drifted 
down  the  wide  chimney  and  lay  in  a  heap  on  the 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD  177 


hearth,  and  Marget  shivered.  The  sorrow  of  life 
came  upon  her  —  the  mother  and  the  son  now  lying 
in  the  kirkyard.  Then  the  blood  rushed  to  her  heart 
again,  for  love  endures  and  triumphs.  But  sorrow 
without  love  .  .  .  her  thoughts  returned  to  Drums- 
heugh,   whose   hearthstone  was  cold  indeed.  She 


IN  THE   RUINED  KITCHEN 


was  now  looking  down  on  his  home,  set  in  the  midst 
of  the  snow.  Its  cheerlessness  appealed  to  her  —  the 
grey  sombre  house  where  this  man,  with  his  wealth 
of  love,  lived  alone.  Was  not  that  Drumsheugh  him- 
self crossing  the  laigh  field,  a  black  figure  on  the 
snow,  with  his  dog  behind  him  .  .  .  going  home 

12 


178      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


where  there  was  none  to  welcome  him  .  .  .  thinking, 
perhaps,  what  might  have  been?  .  .  .  Suddenly  Mar- 
get  stopped  and  opened  a  gate.  .  .  .  Why  should  he 
not  have  company  for  once  in  his  lonely  life  ...  if 
the  woman  he  loved  had  been  hard  to  him,  why 
should  not  one  woman  whom  he  had  not  loved  take 
her  place  for  one  half  hour? 

When  Drumsheugh  came  round  the  corner  of 
the  farmhouse,  looking  old  and  sad,  Marget  was 
waiting,  and  was  amazed  at  the  swift  change  upon 
him. 

"  Ye  didna  expect  me,"  she  said,  coming  to  meet 
him  with  the  rare  smile  that  lingered  round  the  sweet 
curves  of  her  lips,  "  an'  maybe  it 's  a  leeberty  a'm 
takin'  ;  but  ye  ken  kindness  breaks  a'  barriers,  an'  for 
the  sake  o'  Geordie  a'  cudna  pass  yir  hoose  this  nicht 
withoot  tellin'  that  ye  were  in  ma  hert." 

Drumsheugh  had  not  one  word  to  say,  but  he  took 
her  hand  in  both  of  his  for  an  instant,  and  then,  in- 
stead of  going  in  by  the  kitchen,  as  all  visitors  were 
brought,  save  only  the  minister  and  Lord  Kilspindie, 
he  led  Marget  round  to  the  front  door  with  much 
ceremony.  It  was  only  in  the  lobby  he  found  his 
tongue,  and  still  he  hesitated,  as  one  overcome  by 
some  great  occasion. 

"  Ye  sud  be  in  the  parlour,  Marget  Hoo,  but  there 's 
no  been  a  fire  there  for  mony  a  year;  wull  ye  come 
intae  ma  ain  bit  room?  ...  A'  wud  like  tae  see  ye 
there,"  and  Marget  saw  that  he  was  trembling,  as  he 
placed  her  in  a  chair  before  the  fire. 

"Ye  were  aince  in  this  room,"  he  said,  and  now  he 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD 


79 


was  looking  at  her  wistfully;  "  div  ye  mind?  it's  lang 
syne." 

"  It  wes  when  a'  cam'  tae  pay  oor  rent  afore  we 
flitted,  and  ye  hed  tae  seek  for  change,  an'  a'  thocht 
ye  were  angry  at  oor  leavin'." 


MAKGET  IN  DRUMSHEUGH'S  ROOM 


"  No  angry,  na,  na,  a'  wesna  angry  ...  it  took  me 
half  an  oor  tae  find  some  siller,  an'  a'  the  time  ye  were 
sittin'  in  that  verra  chair  .  .  .  that  wes  the  Martinmas 
ma  mither  deed  ...  ye  'ill  no  leave  withoot  yir  tea." 

After  he  had  gone  to  tell  Leezbeth  of  his  guest, 
Marget  looked  round  the  room,  with  its  worn  furniture, 
its  bareness  and  its  comfortlessness.    This  was  all  he 


i8o      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


had  to  come  to  on  a  Friday  night  when  he  returned 
from  market;  out  and  in  here  he  would  go  till  he 
died.  One  touch  of  tenderness  there  was  in  the 
room,  a  portrait  of  his  mother  above  the  mantelpiece, 
and  Marget  rose  to  look  at  it,  for  she  had  known  her, 
a  woman  of  deep  and  silent  affection.  A  letter  was 
lying  open  below  the  picture,  and  this  title,  printed 
in  clear  type  at  the  head,  caught  Marget's  eye : 

"Macfarlane  and  Robertson,  Writers, 
Kilspindie  Buildings, 

Muirtown." 

Marget's  heart  suddenly  stood  still,  for  it  was  the 
firm  that  sent  the  seasonable  remittances  from  Whin- 
nie's  cousin.  This  cousin  had  always  been  a  mystery 
to  her,  for  Whinnie  could  tell  little  about  him,  and 
the  writers  refused  all  information  whatever,  allowing 
them  to  suppose  that  he  was  in  America,  and  chose 
to  give  his  aid  without  communication.  It  had 
occurred  to  her  that  very  likely  he  was  afraid  of 
them  hanging  on  a  rich  relation,  and  there  were  times 
when  she  was  indignant  and  could  not  feel  grateful 
for  this  generosity.  Other  times  she  had  longed  to 
send  a  letter  in  her  name  and  Whinnie's,  telling  him 
how  his  gifts  had  lightened  their  life  and  kept  them 
in  peace  and  honesty  at  Whinnie  Knowe ;  but  the 
lawyers  had  discouraged  the  idea,  and  she  had  feared 
to  press  it. 

What  if  this  had  all  been  a  make-believe,  and  there 
had  been  no  cousin  .  .  .  and  it  had  been  Drumsheugh 
who  had  done  it  all.  .  .  ,  Was  this  the  object  of  all 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD  181 


his  sacrifice  ...  to  keep  a  roof  above  their  heads 
.  .  .  and  she  had  heard  him  miscalled  for  a  miser  and 
said  nothing  .  .  .  how  could  she  look  him  in  the  face 
.  .  .  she  was  sure  of  it,  although  there  was  no  proof. 
.  .  .  A  grey  light  had  been  gathering  all  the  after- 
noon in  her  mind,  and  now  the  sun  had  risen,  and 
everything  was  light. 

Any  moment  he  might  come  in,  and  she  must  know 
for  certain ;  but  it  was  Leezbeth  that  entered  to  lay 
the  tea,  looking  harder  than  ever,  and  evidently  see- 
ing no  call  for  this  outbreak  of  hospitality. 

"  The  maister 's  gaen  upstairs  tae  clean  himsel," 
said  the  housekeeper,  with  a  suggestion  of  contempt. 
"  A'  saw  naethin'  wrang  wi'  him  masel."  But  Leez- 
beth was  not  one  that  could  move  Marget  to  anger  at 
any  time,  and  now  she  was  waiting  for  the  sight  of 
Drumsheugh's  face. 

He  came  in  twenty  years  younger  than  she  had 
seen  him  in  that  dreary  field,  and,  speaking  to  her  as 
if  she  had  been  the  Countess  of  Kilspindie,  asked  her 
to  pour  out  the  tea. 

"  Drumsheugh,"  and  he  started  at  the  note  of 
earnestness,  "  before  a'  sit  doon  at  yir  table  there 's  ae 
question  a'  have  tae  ask  an'  ye  maun  answer.  Ye 
may  think  me  a  forward  wumman,  an'  ma  question 
may  seem  like  madness,  but  it's  come  intae  ma  mind, 
an'  a'll  hae  nae  rest  till  it 's  settled." 

Marget's  courage  was  near  the  failing,  for  it  struck 
her  how  little  she  had  to  go  on,  and  how  wild  was  her 
idea ;  but  it  was  too  late  to  retreat,  and  she  also  saw 
the  terror  on  his  face. 


1 82      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


Drumsheugh  stood  silent,  his  eyes  fixed  on  her 
face,  and  his  hand  tightened  on  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"  Is 't  you  —  are  ye  the  freend  'at  hes  helped  ma 
man  an  me  through  a'  oor  tribbles?  " 

Had  he  been  prepared  for  the  ordeal,  or  had  she 
opened  with  a  preface,  he  would  have  escaped  some- 
how, but  all  his  wiles  were  vain  before  Marget's  eyes. 

"Ye  were  wi' William  Maclure,"  and  Drumsheugh's 
voice  quivered  with  passion,  "  an'  he  telt  ye.  A'll 
never  forgie  him,  no,  never,  nor  speak  ae  word  tae 
him  again,  though  he  be  ma  dearest  freend." 

"Dinna  blame  Dr.  Maclure,  for  a'  he  did  wes  in 
faithfulness  an'  luve,"  and  Marget  told  him  how  she 
had  made  her  discovery ;  "  but  why  sud  ye  be  angry 
that  the  fouk  ye  blessed  at  a  sair  cost  can  thank  ye 
face  tae  face?  " 

Marget  caught  something  about  "  a  pund  or  twa," 
but  it  was  not  easy  to  hear,  for  Drumsheugh  had  gone 
over  to  the  fireplace  and  turned  away  his  face. 

"  Mony  punds  ;  but  that's  the  least  o't ;  it's  what 
ye  suffered  for  them  a'  thae  years  o'  savin',  and  what 
ye  did  wi'  them,  a'm  rememberin'.  Weelum  micht 
never  hev  hed  a  hoose  for  me,  an'  a'  micht  never  hev 
hed  ma  man,  an'  he  micht  gaen  oot  o'  Whinnie 
Knowe  and  been  broken-herted  this  day  hed  it  no 
been  for  you. 

"  Sic  kindness  as  this  hes  never  been  kent  in  the 
Glen,  an*  yet  we  're  nae  blude  tae  you,  no  mair  than 
onybody  in  the  pairish.  Ye  'ill  lat  me  thank  ye  for 
ma  man  an'  Geordie  an'  masel,  an'  ye  'ill  tell  me  hoo 
ye  ever  thocht  o'  showin'  us  sic  favour. "  Marget 


DRUMSHEUGH'S  REWARD  185 


moved  over  to  Drumsheugh  and  laid  her  hand  on 
him  in  entreaty.  He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  her 
in  the  face. 

"  Marget ! "  and  then  she  understood.  He  saw 
the  red  flow  all  over  her  face  and  fade  away  again, 
and  the  tears  fill  her  eyes  and  run  down  her  cheeks, 
before  she  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  spoke  in  a  low 
voice  that  was  very  sweet. 

"  A'  never  dreamed  o'  this,  an'  a'm  not  worthy 
o'  sic  luve,  whereof  I  hev  hed  much  fruit  an'  ye  hev 
only  pain." 

"  Ye  're  wrang,  Marget,  for  the  joy  hes  gien  ower 
the  pain,  an'  a've  hed  the  greater  gain.  Luve  roosed 
me  tae  wark  an'  fecht,  wha  micht  hae  been  a  ne'er-dae- 
weel.  Luve  savit  me  frae  greed  o'  siller  an'  a  hard 
hert.  Luve  kept  me  clean  in  thocht  an'  deed,  for 
it  was  ever  Marget  by  nicht  an'  day.  If  a'm  a  man 
the  day,  ye  did  it,  though  ye  micht  never  hae  kent 
it.  It 's  little  a'  did  for  ye,  but  ye 've  dune  a'  thing 
for  me  .  .  .  Marget." 

After  a  moment  he  went  on : 

"  Twenty  year  ago  a'  cudna  hae  spoken  wi'  ye 
safely,  nor  taken  yir  man's  hand  withoot  a  grudge : 
but  there  's  nae  sin  in  ma  luve  this  day,  and  a'  wudna 
be  ashamed  though  yir  man  heard  me  say,  '  A'  luve 
ye,  Marget.'  " 

He  took  her  hand  and  made  as  though  he  would 
have  lifted  it  to  his  lips,  but  as  he  bent  she  kissed  him 
on  the  forehead.  "  This,"  she  said,  "  for  yir  great 
and  faithfu'  luve." 

They  talked  of  many  things  at  tea,  with  joy  running 


1 86      DRUMSHEUGH'S  LOVE  STORY 


over  Drumsheugh's  heart;  and  then  spoke  of  Geordie 
all  the  way  across  the  moor,  on  which  the  moon  was 
shining.  They  parted  at  the  edge,  where  Marget 
could  see  the  lights  of  home,  and  Drumsheugh 
caught  the  sorrow  of  her  face,  for  him  that  had  to 
go  back  alone  to  an  empty  house. 

"  Dinna  peety  me,  Marget;  a've  hed  ma  reward, 
an*  a'm  mair  than  content." 

On  reaching  home,  he  opened  the  family  Bible  at 
a  place  that  was  marked,  and  this  was  what  he  read 
to  himself:  "  They  which  shall  be  accounted  worthy 
.  .  .  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage  .  .  . 
but  are  as  the  angels  of  God  in  heaven." 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


We  had  called  him  Posty  so  long  that  Jamie  Soutar 
declared  our  postman  had  forgotten  the  sound  of  his 
own  name,  and  had  once  refused  a  letter  addressed 
to  himself.  This  was  merely  Jamie's  humour,  for 
Posty  held  his  legal  designation  in  jealous  remem- 
brance, and  used  it  for  the  confusion  of  pride  with 
much  effect. 

When  Milton,  in  whom  Pharisaism  had  reached  the 
point  of  genius,  dealt  faithfully  with  Posty  at  New 
Year  time  on  his  personal  habits,  and  explained  that 
he  could  not  give  him  money  lest  he  should  waste  it 
in  strong  drink — offering  him  instead  a  small  volume 
of  an  improving  character  —  Posty  fell  back  on  his 
reserves. 

"  Ma  name,"  he  said,  eyeing  Milton  sternly,  and 
giving  each  syllabic  its  just  weight,  "  is  Aircheebald 
MacKittrick;  an'  gin  ye  hae  ony  complaint  against 
me  for  neglect  o'  duty,  ye  can  lodge  it  wi'  the  Post- 
maister-General,  speecifyin'  parteeclars,  sic  as  late 
arrival  or  omittin'  tae  deliver,  an'  a'll  hae  the  satees- 
faction  o'  cairryin'  yer  letter  pairt  o'  the  way  tae  its 
desteenation. 


igo  PAST  REDEMPTION 


"AVe  ma  public  capaucity  as  an  officer  of  the 
Crown  "  — Posty  was  now  master  of  the  situation  and 
grew  more  awful  every  moment  — "  an'  there  a'm 
open  tae  creeticism.  In  ma  private  capaucity  as  a 
free-born  Scot,  the  Queen  hersel  has  nae  business  tae 
interfere  wi'  me.  Whether  a'  prefer  speerits  or  lime- 
juice  for  ma  tastin' "  —  Milton  had  once  deceived 
Posty  with  the  latter  seductive  fluid  —  "whether  a' 
mairry  ae  wife  or  three"  —  Milton's  third  nuptials 
were  still  fresh  in  the  Glen  —  "is  a  maitter  for  a 
man's  ain  deceesion. 

"  As  regairds  the  bookie,"  and  Posty  held  its  cheap 
covers  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  "  ye  'ill 
excuse  me.  Jamie  Soutar  gied  me  a  lend  o'  his 
French  Revolution,  an'  a'm  juist  warstlin'  thro'  wi't. 
A'  hev'  na  muckle  time  for  readin',  an'  Tammas 
Carlyle 's  a  stiff  body,  but  his  buiks  are  graund 
feedin'.  Besides"  —  and  now  Posty  gave  the  coup 
de  grace  —  **  thae  releegious  bookies  hae  nae  logic 
for  an  able-bodied  man,  an'  the  laist  ane  ye 
gied  me  was  louse  in  doctrine,  juist  stinkin'  wi' 
Armeenianism." 

Posty  was  understood  to  hold  an  impregnable 
position  with  the  head  of  his  department,  and  it 
was  boasted  in  the  Glen  that  he  had  carried  the 
mails  from  Drumtochty  to  Pitscourie  —  thirteen  miles 
—  and  back,  every  day,  excluding  Sabbaths,  for  eight- 
and-twenty  years.  It  was  also  believed  that  he  had 
only  been  late  twice,  when  the  Scourie  burn  carried 
away  the  bridge,  and  Posty  had  to  go  four  miles  up 
stream  to  find  a  crossing-place,  and  the  day  when  he 


THE  DRUMTOCHTY  POST-OFFICE 


PAST  REDEMPTION  193 


struck  his  head  against  a  stone,  negotiating  a  drift, 
and  lay  insensible  for  three  hours. 

At  five  o'clock  to  a  minute  Posty  appeared  every 
morning  in  the  village  shop,  which  had  accumulated 
during  the  night  a  blended  fragrance  of  tea  and  sugar, 
and  candles  and  Macdougall's  sheep  dip,  and  where 


MRS.  RORB  REVIEWS  THE  LETTERS 


Mrs.  Robb,  our  postmistress,  received  Posty  in  a 
negligent  undress  sanctioned  by  official  business  and 
a  spotless  widowhood. 

"  That 's  frae  the  shooting  lodge  tae  his  lordship. 
It 'ill  be  aboot  the  white  hares;"  and  Mrs.  Robb 

*3 


194  PAST  REDEMPTION 


began  to  review  the  letters  with  unfailing  accuracy. 
"Ye  can  aye  ken  Drumsheugh's  hand;  he's  after 
some  siller  frae  Piggie  Walker.  Piggie  trickit  him 
aince  ;  he 'ill  no  dae 't  again.  'Miss  Howieson.'  Ma 
word  !  Jean 's  no  blate  tae  pit  that  afore  her  lassie's 
name,  and  her  a  servant-lass,  tho'  a'm  no  sayin'  'at 
she  disna  deserve  it,  sendin'  her  mother  a  post-office 
order  the  beginnin'  o'  ilka  month,  riglar.  'The  Wor- 
shipful Chief  Bummer  of  the  Sons  of  Temperance 
Reform.'  Michty,  what  a  title!  That's  what  they 
ca'  that  haverin'  body  frae  the  sooth  Archie  Moncur 
hed  up  lecturin'  laist  winter  on  teetotalism.  Ye  were 
terribly  affeckit  yersel,  Posty,  a'  heard" — to  which 
sally  the  immovable  face  gave  no  sign.  "  And  here 's 
ane  tar  auld  Maister  Yellowlees,  o'  Kildrummie,  askin' 
him  tae  the  fast  a'm  jalousin'.  Sail,  the  Free  Kirk 
fouk 'ill  no  bless  their  minister  for  his  choice.  Div 
ye  mind  the  diveesions  o'  his  laist  sermon  here  on 
the  sparrows,  Posty?" 

'"We  shall  consider  at  length'" — the  voice 
seemed  to  proceed  from  a  graven  image  — "  c  the 
natural  history  of  the  sparrow  ;  next  we  shall  com- 
pare the  value  of  sparrow  in  ancient  and  modern 
times  ;  and  lastly,  we  shall  apply  the  foregoing  truth 
to  the  spiritual  condition  of  two  classes.'  " 

"That's  it  tae  a  word.  It  was  michty,  an'  Donald 
Menzies  threipit  that  he  heard  the  deil  lauchin'  in 
the  kirk.  Weel,  that's  a',  Posty,  an'  ^Advertiser 
frae  Burnbrae  tae  his  son  in  the  Black  Watch.  He 
'ill  be  hame  sune  juist  covered  wi'  medals.  A'  doot 
there  's  been  mair  snow  thro'  the  nicht.  It  'ill  be 
heavy  traivellin'. " 


PAST  REDEMPTION  195 


The  light  of  the  oil-lamp  fell  on  Posty  as  he  buckled 
his  bag,  and  threw  his  figure  into  relief  against  a  back- 
ground of  boxes  and  barrels. 

A  tall  man  even  for  Drumtochty,  standing  six  feet 
three  in  his  boots,  who,  being  only  a  walking  skeleton, 
ought  to  have  weighed  some  twelve  stone,  but  with 


kelpie's  hole 


the  bone  and  breadth  of  him  turned  the  scale  at 
fifteen.  His  hair  was  a  fiery  red,  and  his  bare,  hard- 
featured  face  two  shades  darker.  No  one  had  ever 
caught  a  trace  of  the  inner  man  on  Posty's  face,  save 
once  and  for  an  instant  —  when  he  jumped  into  Kel- 
pie's hole  to  save  a  wee  lassie.  Elspeth  Macfadyen 
said  afterwards  "  his  eyes  were  graund."  He  wore 
the  regulation  cap  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  as  no 


196 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


post-office  jacket  was  big  enough  to  meet  on  Posty's 
chest,  he  looped  it  with  string  over  a  knitted  waist- 
coat. One  winter  he  amazed  the  Glen  by  appearing 
in  a  waterproof  cape,  which  a  humanitarian  official 
had  provided  for  country  postmen,  but  returned  after 
a  week  to  his  former  estate,  declaring  that  such  luxu- 
ries were  unhealthy  and  certain  to  undermine  the 
constitution.  His  watch  was  the  size  of  a  small  turnip, 
and  gave  the  authorised  time  to  the  district,  although 
Posty  was  always  denouncing  it  for  a  tendency  to  lose 
a  minute  in  the  course  of  summer,  an  irregularity  he 
used  to  trace  back  to  a  thunder-storm  in  his  grand- 
father's time.  His  equipment  was  completed  by  an 
oaken  stick,  which  the  smith  shod  afresh  every  third 
year,  and  which  Posty  would  suddenly  swing  over  his 
head  as  he  went  along.  It  was  supposed  that  at  these 
times  he  had  settled  a  point  of  doctrine. 

Mrs.  Robb  started  him  with  a  score  of  letters,  and 
the  rest  he  gathered  as  he  went.  The  upper  Glen 
had  a  box  with  a  lock,  at  the  cross  roads,  and  the 
theory  was  that  each  farm  had  one  key  and  Posty  his 
own.  Every  key  except  Posty's  had  been  lost  long 
ago,  and  the  box  stood  open  to  the  light,  but  Posty 
always  made  a  vain  attempt  to  sneck  the  door,  and 
solemnly  dropped  the  letters  through  the  slit.  Some 
farms  had  hidie  holes  in  the  dyke,  which  Posty  could 
find  in  the  darkest  morning;  and  Hillocks,  through 
sheer  force  of  custom,  deposited  his  correspondence, 
as  his  father  had  done  before  him,  at  the  root  of  an 
ancient  beech.  Persons  handing  Posty  letters  con- 
sidered it  polite  to  hint  at  their  contents,  and  any  in 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


197 


formation  about  our  exiles  was  considered  Posty's 
due.    He  was  hardly  ever  known  to  make  any  remark, 
and  a  stranger  would  have  said  that  he  did  not  hear, 
but  it  was  noticed  that 
he  carried  the  letters  to 
Whinnie  Knowe  him- 
self during  George's 
illness,    and    there  is 
no  doubt  that  he  was 
quite  excited    the  day 
he  brought  the  tidings 
of    Professor  Ross's 
recovery. 

He  only  became 
really  fluent  after  he 
had  been  tasting,  for 
which  facilities  were 
provided  at  five  points 
on  his  route,  and  then 
he  gave  himself  to  the- 
ology, in  which,  from  a 
technical  point  of  view, 
he  could  hold  his  own 
with  any  man  in  the 
Glen  except  Lachlan 
Campbell  and  Jamie 
Soutar.    As  he  could 

not  always  find  another  theologian  when  he  was 
in  this  mood  he  used  to  walk  the  faster  as  a  relief 
to  his  feelings,  and  then  rest  quietly  by  the  road- 
side for  half  an  hour,  wrapt  in  meditation.  You 


A  HIDIE  HOLE  IN  THE  DYKE 
FOR  LETTERS 


198  PAST  REDEMPTION 


might  have  set  your  watch  by  his  rising  when  he 
went  on  his  way  like  a  man  whose  mind  was  now  at 
ease. 

His  face  was  so  unconscious  and  unsuspicious  dur- 
ing these  brief  retreats  that  it  arrested  a  well-doing 
tramp  one  day  and  exposed  him  to  misconstruction. 
It  seemed  to  him,  as  he  explained  afterwards  to  our 
policeman,  that  Posty  might  have  fainted,  and  he  felt 
it  his  duty  to  take  charge  of  the  mail-bag,  which  its 
guardian  utilised  to  fill  up  the  hollow  of  his  back. 
Very  gently  did  the  tramp  loosen  the  strap  and  extri- 
cate the  bag.  He  was  rising  from  his  knees  when  a 
big  red  hand  gripped  his  arm,  and  Posty  regarded 
the  tree  above  his  head  with  profound  interest. 

"A'm  obleeged  tae  ye,"  a  voice  began,  "  for  yir 
thochtfu'  attention,  an'  the  care  ye  took  no  tae  disturb 
me.  Ye  'ill  be  a  resident  in  the  Glen,  a'm  coontin', 
an'  wantin'  yir  letters,"  and  Posty  rose  with  great  de- 
liberation and  refastened  the  strap. 

"  A'  canna  mind  yir  face  for  the  moment,  but  may- 
be ye 're  veesitin'  yir  freends.  Dinna  gang  awa'  till  a' 
find  yir  letter;  it  micht  hae  money  in  %  an'  it's  plain 
ye  're  needin'  't. 

"  Surely  ye  didna  mean  tae  assault  a  puir  helpless 
cratur,"  continued  Posty,  picking  up  his  stick  and  lay- 
ing hold  of  the  tramp  by  his  rags,  "  an'  rob  him  o' 
Her  Majesty's  mails?  Div  ye  ken  that  wud  be 
highway  robbery  wi'  aggravations,  and,  man,  ye  micht 
be  hanged  and  quartered. 

"  Ye  wud  never  misconduct  yirsel  like  that,  but 
some  o'  yir  freends  micht,  an'  a'  wud  like  tae  send 


TRAMPS 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


201 


them  a  bit  message.  .  .  .  Lord's  sake,  dinna  yowl 
like  that,  or  the  neeburs  'ill  think  a'm  hurtin'  ye." 

Two  hours  later  the  tramp  was  found  behind  a 
hedge  anointing  his  sores  with  butter,  and  using 
language  which  Posty,  as  a  religious  man,  would  have 
heard  with  profound  regret. 

When  this  incident  came  to  Doctor  Davidson's  ears, 
he  took  a  strong  view,  and  spoke  with  such  frankness 
and  with  such  a  wealth  of  family  illustration,  that 
Posty  was  much  edified  and  grew  eloquent. 

"  Say  awa',  Doctor,  for  it's  a'  true,  an'  ye  're  daein' 
yir  duty  as  a  minister  faithfu'  an'  week  A'm  greatly 
obleeged  tae  ye,  an'  a'll  no  forget  yir  warnin'.  Na, 
na,  it  'ill  sink. 

"  Ye  'ill  no  be  angry,  though,  or  think  me  Hteegious 
gin  a'  pint  oot  a  difference  atween  me  an'  ma  brither 
that  ye  was  neeburin'  wi'  me  in  the  maitter  o'  tastin'. 

"  A'ill  no  deny  that  a'  tak  ma  mornin',  and  maybe 
a  forenoon,  wi'  a  drap  down  at  Pitscoourie  after  ma 
dinner,  and  juist  a  moothfu'  at  Luckie  Macpherson's 
comin'  thro'  Netheraird,  and  a  body  needs  something 
afore  he  gaes  tae  bed,  but  that  's  ma  ordinar'  leemit. 

"  Noo,  Jock  is  juist  in  an'  ootdrammin'  frae  mornin' 
tac  nicht,  baith  in  Drumtochty  an'  Muirtown,  and 
that 's  bad  for  the  constitution,  tae  sae  naethin'  o' 
morals. 

"  Forbye  that,  Doctor,  if  Jock  crosses  the  line,  he 
gets  veecious  ower  politics  or  the  catechism,  an'  he  '11 
fecht  like  a  gude  ane ;  but  gin  a'm  juist  a  wee  over- 
corn' —  a've  never  been  intoxicat'  like  thae  puir, 
regairdless,  toon  waufies  —  a'  sit  doon  for  half-an'- 


202 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


oor  hummilled  an'  reflect  on  the  dispensations  o' 
Providence." 

Posty  had,  in  fact,  three  moods  :  the  positive,  when 
he  was  a  man  of  few  words ;  the  comparative,  when 
he  was  cheerful  and  gave  himself  to  the  discussion  of 
doctrine ;  and  the  superlative,  when  he  had  been  tast- 
ing freely  and  retired  for  meditation. 

As  the  years  passed,  and  Posty  established  himself 
in  all  hearts,  the  philanthropy  of  the  Glen  came  to  a 
focus  on  his  redemption,  to  Posty's  inward  delight, 
and  with  results  still  fondly  remembered. 

Cunningham,  the  Free  Church  scholar  and  shyest 
of  men,  gave  his  mind  to  Posty  in  the  intervals  of 
editing  Sophocles,  and  after  planning  the  campaign 
for  four  months,  allured  that  worthy  into  his  study, 
and  began  operations  with  much  tact. 

"  Sit  down,  Posty,  sit  down,  I'm  very  glad  to  see 
you,  and  ...  I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  your  at- 
tention .  .  .  every  one  in  the  Glen  must  be  satisfied 
with  .  .  .  with  your  sense  of  official  duty." 

"Thank  ye,  sir,"  said  Posty,  in  his  dryest  voice, 
anticipating  exactly  what  Cunningham  was  after,  and 
fixing  that  unhappy  man  with  a  stony  stare  that 
brought  the  perspiration  to  his  forehead. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  however,  that  I  wanted  to  say 
to  you,  and,  Posty,  you  will  understand  that  it  is  a 
.  .  .  little  difficult  to  ...  in  fact  to  mention,"  and 
Cunningham  fumbled  with  some  Greek  proofs. 

"  What's  yir  wull,  sir?"  inquired  Posty,  keeping 
Cunningham  under  his  relentless  eye. 

"Well,  it's  simply,"  and  then  Cunningham  de- 


PAST  REDEMPTION  203 


tected  a  new  flavour  in  the  atmosphere,  and  concluded 
that  Posty  had  been  given  into  his  hands,  44  that  .  .  . 
f.here  '  s  a  very  strong  smell  of  spirits  in  the  room." 

"  A'  noticed  that  masel,  sir,  the  meenut  a'  cam  in, 
but  a'  didna  like  to  say  onything  aboot  it,"  and  Posty 
regarded  Cunningham,  with  an  expression  of  sympa- 
thetic toleration. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  and  Cunningham  was 
much  agitated,  "  that  you  think  .  .  ." 

"  Dinna  pit  yirsel  aboot,  sir,"  said  Posty,  in  a  con- 
soling voice,  "or  suppose  a'  wud  say  a  word  ootside 
this  room.  Na,  na,  there's  times  a'm  the  better  o' 
a  gless  masel,  an'  it 's  no  possible  ye  cud  trachle 
through  the  Greek  withoot  a  bit  tonic  ;  but  ye  're  safe 
wi'  me,"  said  Posty,  departing  at  the  right  moment, 
and  he  kept  his  word.  But  Cunningham  was  so  scan- 
dalised that  he  let  out  the  conversation,  and  the  Glen 
was  happy  for  a  month  over  it,  for  they  loved  both 
men,  each  in  his  own  way. 

When  Jock  MacKittrick  died  suddenly,  Cunningham 
expressed  his  sympathy  with  Posty,  and  produced  an 
unexpected  impression  on  that  self-contained  man. 

"  It  was  only  last  evening  that  I  saw  you  and  your 
brother  part  in  the  village ;  it  must  be  a  terrible  blow 
to  you." 

"Ye  saw  that?"  broke  in  Posty;  "then  ye 're  the 
only  man  in  the  Glen  that,  kens  what  a  sore  heart  a'm 
cairryin'  the  day.  Juist  ablow  the  public  hoose,  and 
he  gaed  up  and  a'  gaed  hame ;  it's  a  fact. 

"  The  fouk  are  say  in'  the  day  as  a'  cam  alang  the 
Glen,  '  Ye  'ill  miss  Jock,  Posty,  he  slippit  afif  afore  his 


204  PAST  REDEMPTION 


time.'  An'  a'  juist  gie  them  an  '  Ou,  aye,  it  maks  a 
difference,'  but  they  dinna  ken  ma  secret;  hooever 
did  ye  licht  on  it? 

"  There 's  nae  use  denyin'.  't  that  he  said  tae  me, 
'  Ye  'ill  tak  yir  evenin',  Posty,'  for  Jock  aye  ca'd  me 
that  —  he  was  prood  o't  bein'  in  the  faimily  —  an'  gin 
ye  ask  me  what  cam  ower  me  that  a'  sud  hae  refused 
him,  a'  canna  tell. 

"  'Na,  na,  Jock,'  a'  said,  '  a've  hed  eneuch  the  day, 
an'  a'm  gaein'  hame;'  he  lookit  at  me,  but  a'  vves 
dour,  an'  noo  it 's  ower  late;  a'll  never  ta^te  wi'  Jock 
again."  And  Posty's  iron  manner  failed,  and  for  once 
in  his  life  he  was  profoundly  affected. 

The  last  philanthropist  who  tried  his  hand  on  Posty 
before  he  died  was  "  the  Colonel "  as  we  called  him 
—  that  fine  hearty  old  warrior  who  stayed  with  the 
Carnegies  at  the  Lodge,  and  had  come  to  grief  over 
Jamie  Soutar  at  the  evangelistic  meeting.  The 
Colonel  was  certain  that  he  could  manage  Posty,  for 
he  was  great  at  what  he  called  "  button-holing,"  and 
so  he  had  his  second  disaster,  understanding  neither 
Drumtochty  nor  Posty.  Being  full  of  the  simplest 
guile  he  joined  Posty  on  the  road  and  spun  the  most 
delightful  Indian  yarns,  which  were  all  intended  to 
show  what  splendid  fellows  his  soldiers  were,  and  how 
they  ruined  themselves  with  drink.  Posty  gave  most 
patient  attention  and  only  broke  silence  twice. 

"Drinkin' —  if  ye  are  meanin'  intoxication  —  is 
waur  than  a  failin',  it's  a  sin  an'  no  a  licht  ane.  Ye 
ken  whar  the  drunkards  gang  tae  in  the  end,  but  dinna 
let  me  interrupt  ye." 


PAST  REDEMPTION  205 


Later  he  inquired  anxiously  where  the  Colonel's 
regiment  had  been  recruited,  and  was  much  relieved 
by  the  answer. 

"  A'  vves  thinkin'  they  cudna  be  oor  lads  that  lat 
the  drink  get  the  upper  hand  ;  they  sud  be  able  tae 
tak  their  drappie  cannily  an'  no  mak  fules  o'  them- 
selves, but  a've  heard  that  a  gless  or  twa  o'  speerits 
'ill  turn  their  heads  in  the  sooth." 

When  the  Colonel,  considerably  damped  by  these 
preliminaries,  came  to  close  grips,  Posty  took  a 
stand. 

"'Pledge'  did  ye  say,  Colonel;  na,  na,  a' daurna 
hae  onything  tae  dae  wi'  sic  devices,  they  're  nae thing 
else  than  vows,  an'  vows  are  aboleeshed  in  this  dis- 
pensation. The  Catholics  keep  them  up,  a'm  informed, 
but  a'm  a  Protestant,  an'  ma  conscience  wudna  alloo 
me  tae  sign. 

"But  a'm  terribly  pleased  wi'  yir  stories,  sir,  an' 
they  gar  the  time  pass  fine,  an'  ye  maunna  be  offended. 
Gin  ye  cud  meet  me  the  morn  at  the  boonds  o'  the 
pairish,  a'm  willin'  tae  argie  the  maitter  o'  vows  up  the 
Glen  juist  tae  shairpen  oor  minds. 

"  As  for  the  bit  ribbon,"  and  Posty  held  it  as  if 
it  carried  infection,  "gin  ye  hed  belanged  tae  Drum- 
tochty  ye  wud  hae  kent  nae  man  cud  wear  sic  a  thing. 
Oor  fouk  hae  an  awfu'  sense  o'  humour;  it's  sae  deep 
they  canna  lauch,  but  they  wud  juist  look  at  the  man 
wi'  a  ribbon  on,  an'  as  sure 's  deith  they  wudna  be 
weel  for  the  rest  o'  the  day. 

"Besides,  Colonel,  a'm  suspeckin'  that  there's 
juist  ae  preceedent  for  the  ribbon  in  the  Bible,  that 


206  PAST  REDEMPTION 


wes  the  Pharisees,  when  they  made  broad  their  phy 
lacteries,  and  a'  ne'er  likit  thae  gentry. 

"  Sal],  gin  ilka  man  began  tae  pit  his  virtues  on  his 
coat,  an'  did  it  honest,  it  wud  be  a  show  at  kirk  and 
market.  Milton  wud  hae  naethin'  but  yir  ribbon,  an' 
Burnbrae,  wha 's  the  best  man  in  the  Glen,  wudna  hae 
room  on  his  Sabbath  coat  for  his  decorations,"  and 
Posty  chuckled  inwardly  to  the  horror  of  the  Colonel. 

Three  days  afterwards  the  great  tragedy  happened, 
and  no  one  needed  again  to  trouble  himself  about 
Posty.  It  was  summer  time,  with  thunder  in  the  air, 
and  heavy  black  clouds  above  Glen  Urtach.  June 
was  the  month  in  which  Mrs.  Macfadyen  scoured  her 
blankets,  and  as  her  burn  was  nearly  dry,  she  trans- 
ferred her  apparatus  to  the  bank  of  the  Tochty,  where 
a  pool  below  the  mill  gave  her  a  sure  supply  of  water. 
Elspeth  lit  a.  fire  beneath  the  birches  on  the  bank, 
and  boiled  the  water.  She  plunged  the  blankets  into 
a  huge  tub,  and  kilting  up  her  coats  danced  therein 
powerfully,  with  many  a  direction  to  Elsie,  her  seven- 
year-old,  to  "see  ye  dinna  fa'  in,  or  ye '11  be  carried 
intae  the  Kelpie's  Hole  ablow,  an'  it'll  no  be  yir 
mither  can  bring  you  oot" 

The  sun  was  still  shining  brightly  on  the  Glen, 
when  the  distant  storm  burst  on  Ben  Hornish,  whose 
steep  sides  drain  into  the  Urtach,  that  ends  in  the 
Tochty.  Down  the  Tochty  came  the  first  wave, 
three  feet  high,  bringing  on  its  foaming  yeasty  waters 
branches  of  trees,  two  young  lambs,  a  stool  from  some 
cottage  door,  a  shepherd's  plaid,  and  all  kinds  of  drift 
from  eddies  that  had  been  swept  clean.  Elspeth 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


209 


heard  the  roar,  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  see  Elsie,  who 
had  been  playing  too  near  the  edge,  swept  away  into 
the  pool  beneath,  that  in  less  than  a  minute  was  a 
seething  cauldron  of  water  that  whirled  round  and 
round  against  the  rocks  before  it  rushed  down  the 
bed  of  the  river. 


 .  ^*xs±  <  * 

BEN  HORNISH 


"  Ma  bairn  !  ma  bairn !  God  hae  mercy  upon 
her!"  and  Elspeth's  cry  ran  through  the  bonnie  birk 
wood  and  rose  through  the  smiling  sky  to  a  God 
that  seemed  to  give  no  heed. 

"Whar  is  she?"  was  all  Posty  asked,  tearing  off 
his  coat  and  waistcoat,  for  he  had  heard  the  cry  as 
he  was  going  to  the  mill,  and  took  the  lade  at  a  leap 
to  lose  no  time. 

"  Yonder,  Posty,  but  ye  .  .  ." 


2io  PAST  REDEMPTION 


He  was  already  in  the  depths,  while  the  mother 
hung  over  the  edge  of  the  merciless  flood.  It  seemed 
an  hour —  it  was  not  actually  a  minute — before  he 
appeared,  with  the  blood  pouring  from  a  gash  on  his 
forehead,  and  hung  for  a  few  seconds  on  a  rock  for 
air. 

"  Come  oot,  Posfy,  ye  hae  a  wife  and  bairns,  an' 
ye '11  be  drooned;"  for  Elspeth  was  a  brave-hearted, 
unselfish  woman. 

"A'll  hae  Elsie  first,"  and  down  he  went  again, 
where  the  torrent  raged  against  the  rocks. 

This  time  he  came  up  at  once,  with  Elsie,  a  poor 
little  bundle,  in  his  arms. 

"Tak'  her  quick,"  he  gasped,  clinging  with  one 
hand  to  a  jagged  point. 

And  Elspeth  had  no  sooner  gripped  Elsie  by  her 
frock  than  Posty  flung  up  his  arms,  and  was  whirled 
down  the  river,  now  running  like  a  mill-race,  and 
Elspeth  fancied  she  saw  him  turning  over  and  over, 
for  he  seemed  to  be  insensible. 

Within  an  hour  they  found  his  body  down  below 
the  Lodge  with  many  wounds  on  it,  besides  that  gash, 
and  they  knew  at  once  that  he  had  been  dashed  to 
death  against  the  stones. 

They  carried  him  to  the  Lodge  —  the  Colonel  in- 
sisted on  being  a  bearer — and  for  two  hours  by  the 
clock  they  did  their  best  for  Posty. 

"It's  no  a  drop  o'  water  'ill  droon  Posty,"  said 
Jamie  Soutar,  "  and  that  his  ain  Tochty,  an'  as  for  a 
clout  (blow)  on  the  head,  what 's  that  tae  a  man  like 
Posty  !  he  '11  be  on  the  road  the  mornin'."    But  Jamie 


PAST  REDEMPTION  211 


spoke  with  the  fierce  assurance  of  a  man  that  fears 
the  worst  and  is  afraid  of  breaking  down. 

"  The  water  hes  been  ower  muckle  for  him  aifter 
a',"  our  cynic  said  to  Archie  Moncur,  who  had  long 
striven  to  make  a  teetotaller  of  Posty,  as  they  went 
home  together,  "  tho'  he  didna  give  in  tae  the  end." 

"A'  doot  a'  wes  a  wee  hard  on  him,  Jamie" — 
Archie  had  the  tenderest  heart  in  the  Glen  and  was 
much  loved  —  "but  there  wes  nae  man  a'  like 't  better." 

"  Ycr  tongue  wes  naithin'  tae  mine,  Airchie,  when 
a'  yoke  't  on  him,  but  he  bore  nae  ill  will,  did  Posty, 
he  had  an  awfu'  respeck  for  ye  an'  aye  spoke  o'  ye 
as  his  freend." 

"  Sae  a'  wes —  wha  wudna  be  —  he  hed  a  true  hert 
hcd  Posty,  and  nae  jukcry-packery  (trickery)  aboot 
him." 

"  An'  a  graund  hcid  tae,"  went  on  Jamie  ;  "  there 
wes  naebody  in  the  Glen  cud  meet  him  in  theology 
except  maybe  Lachlan,  and  did  ye  ever  hear  him  say 
an  ill  word  aboot  onybody?  " 

"  Never,  Jamie,  an'  there  wes  naebody  he  wesna 
interested  in ;  the  black-edged  letters  aye  burned  his 
fingers  —  he  hated  tae  deliver  them.  He  wes  a'body's 
freend,  wes  Posty,"  went  on  Archie,  "  an'  naebody's 
enemy." 

"  He  deed  like  a  man,"  concluded  Jamie;  "there 's 
juist  anither  consolation —  the  lassie's  comin'  roond 
fine." 

When  the  new  Free  Kirk  minister  was  settled  in 
Drumtochty,  Jamie  told  him  the  story  on  the  road 
one  day  and  put  him  to  the  test. 


212 


PAST  REDEMPTION 


"  What  think  ye,  sir,  becam'  o'  Posty  on  the  ither 
side?"  and  Jamie  fixed  his  eyes  on  Carmichael. 

The  minister's  face  grew  still  whiter. 

"  Did  ye  ever  read  what  shall  be  done  to  any  man 
that  hurts  one  of  God's  bairns?  " 

"  Fine,"  answered  Jamie,  with  relish,  "  a  millstane 
aboot  his  neck,  an'  intae  the  depths  o'  the  sea." 

"  Then,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  must  be  well  with 
Posty,  who  went  into  the  depths  and  brought  a  bairn 
up  at  the  cost  of  his  life,"  and  Carmichael  added 
softly,  "  whose  angel  doth  continually  behold  the 
face  of  the  Father." 

"  Yir  hand,  sir,"  said  Jamie,  and  when  the  great 
heresy  trial  began  at  Muirtown,  Jamie  prophesied 
Carmichael's  triumphant  acquittal,  declaring  him  a 
theologian  of  the  first  order. 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR 
COUNTRY 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


NARROW  circumstances  and  high  spirit  drove  forth 
some  half-dozen  young  men  and  women  from  the 
Glen  every  year,  to  earn  their  living  in  the  cities  of 
the  South.  They  carried  with  them,  as  a  working 
capital,  sound  education,  unflagging  industry,  absolute 
integrity,  and  an  undying  attachment  to  Drumtochty. 
Their  one  necessary  luxury  was  a  weekly  copy  of  the 
Muirtown  Advertiser,  which  four  servant  lasses  would 
share  between  them  and  circulate  at  church  doors, 
carefully  wrapt  in  a  page  of  some  common  daily,  and 
their  one  hour  of  unmixed  enjoyment  its  careful 
perusal,  column  by  column,  from  the  first  word  to  the 
last.  It  would  have  been  foolishness  to  omit  the  ad- 
vertisements, for  you  might  have  missed  the  name  of 
Drumsheugh  in  connection  with  a  sale  of  stirks ;  and 
although  at  home  no  Drumtochty  person  allowed 
himself  to  take  an  interest  in  the  affairs  of  Kil- 
drummie  or  Netheraird,  yet  the  very  names  of  neigh- 
bouring parishes  sounded  kindly  at  the  distance  of 
Glasgow.  One  paragraph  was  kept  for  the  last,  and 
read  from  six  to  twelve  times,  because  it  was  headed 
Drumtochty,  and  gave  an  account  of  the  annual 


216    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


ploughing  match,  or  the  school  examination,  or  the 
flower  show,  or  a  winter  lecture,  when  Jamie  Soutar 
had  proposed  the  vote  of  thanks.  Poor  little  news 
and  names  hard  of  pronunciation ;  but  the  girl  sitting 


READING  THE  HOME  PAPER 


alone  by  the  kitchen  fire  —  her  fellow  servants  gone 
to  bed  —  or  the  settler  in  the  far  Northwest  —  for  he 
also  got  his  Advertiser  after  long  delays — felt  the 
caller  air  blowing  down  the  Glen,  and  saw  the  sun 
shining  on  the  Tochty  below  the  mill,  and  went  up 
between  the  pinks  and  moss-roses  to  the  dear  old 
door  —  ah  me  !  the  click  of  the  garden  gate  —  and 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  217 

heard  again  the  sound  of  the  Hundredth  Psalm  in  the 
parish  kirk. 

If  one  wished  to  take  a  complete  census  of  our 
people  in  Glasgow,  he  had  only  to  attend  when 


THE  TOCHTY  BELOW  THE  MILL 


Doctor  Davidson  preached  on  th^  fast  day,  and  made 
his  way  afterwards  to  the  vestry  door. 

"There's  a  gude  puckle  fouk  waitin'  tae  see  ye, 
sir,"  the  city  beadle  would  say  to  the  doctor,  with 
much  ceremony;  "  a'm  judgin'  they're  frae  yir  ain 
pairish.    Is  it  yir  wull  they  be  admitted?" 

Then  in  they  came,  craftsmen  in  stone  and  iron, 


218    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


clerks  in  offices  and  students  from  the  University, 
housemaids  and  working  men's  wives,  without  dis- 
tinction of  persons,  having  spent  the  last  ten  minutes 
in  exchanging  news  and  magnifying  the  sermon. 
The  doctor  gave  a  Christian  name  to  each,  and  some 
personal  message  from  the  Glen,  while  they,  in  turn, 
did  their  best  to  reduce  his  hand  to  pulp,  and  de- 


THE  TOCHTY  BELOW  THE  MILL 

clared  aloud  that  preaching  like  his  could  not  be  got 
outside  Drumtochty,  to  the  huge  delight  of  Bigheart, 
minister  of  the  church,  who  was  also  a  Chaplain  to 
the  Queen  and  all  Scotland. 

The  Dispersion  endured  any  sacrifice  to  visit  the 
old  Glen,  and  made  their  appearance  from  various 
places,  at  regular  intervals,  like  Jews  coming  up  to 
Jerusalem.    An  exile  was  careful  to  arrive  at  Muir- 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  219 


town  Station  on  a  Friday  afternoon,  so  that  he  might 
join  the  Drumtochty  contingent  on  their  way  home 
from  market.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed,  however,  that 
there  was  any  demonstration  when  he  showed  himself 
on  the  familiar  platform  where  Drumtochty  men 
compared  notes  with  other  parishes  at  the  doors  of 
the  Dunleith  train. 

"  Is  that  you,  Robert?  ye 'ill  be  gaein' wast  the 
nicht,"  was  the  only  indication  Hillocks  would  give 
before  the  general  public  that  he  had  recognised 
young  Netherton  after  three  years'  absence,  and  then 
he  would  complete  his  judgment  on  the  potato  crop 
as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

"Ye 're  there,  aifter  a',  man;  a'  wes  feared  the 
sooth  train  micht  be  late,"  was  all  the  length  even 
Nethertons  paternal  feelings  would  carry  him  for  the 
time;  "  did  ye  see  that  yir  box  wes  pit  in  the  van?" 
and  the  father  and  son  might  travel  in  different  com- 
partments to  the  Junction.  Drumtochty  retained  still 
some  reticence,  and  did  not  conduct  its  emotions  in 
public,  but  it  had  a  heart.  When  the  van  of  the 
Dunleith  train  had  cleared  the  Junction  and  Drum- 
tochty was  left  to  itself — for  Kildrummie  did  not 
really  count — it  was  as  when  winter  melts  into  spring. 

"  Hoo  are  ye,  Robert,  hoo  are  ye?  gled  tae  see 
ye,"  Drumsheugh  would  say,  examining  the  trans- 
formed figure  from  head  to  foot;  "man,  a'  wud 
hardly  hae  kent  ye.  Come  awa'  an'  gie 's  yir  news," 
and  the  head  of  the  commonwealth  led  the  way 
to  our  third  with  Robert,  Drumtochty  closing  in 
behind. 


220    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


Preliminaries  were  disposed  of  in  the  run  to  Kil- 
drummie,  and  as  the  little  company  made  their  way 
through  the  pine  woods,  and  down  one  side  of  the 
Glen,  and  over  the  Tochty  bridge,  and  up  the  other 
slope  to  the  parting  of  the  ways,  Robert  was  straitly 
questioned  about  the  magnitude  of  the  work  he  did 
in  Glasgow,  and  the  customs  of  the  people,  and  the 


THE  DESCENT  TO  TOCHTY  BRIDGE 

well-being  of  every  single  Drumtochty  person  in  that 
city,  and  chiefly  as  to  the  sermons  he  had  heard, 
their  texts  and  treatment.  On  Sabbath  the  group  at 
the  kirk  door  would  open  up  at  Robert's  approach, 
but  he  would  only  nod  in  a  shamefaced  way  to  his 
friends  and  pass  on ;  for  it  was  our  etiquette  that  in- 
stead of  remaining  to  gossip,  a  son  should  on  such 
occasions  go  in  with  his  mother  and  sit  beside  her  in 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  221 


the  pew,  who  on  her  part  would  mistake  the  psalm 
that  he  might  find  it  for  her,  and  pay  such  elaborate 
attention  to  the  sermon  that  every  one  knew  she  was 
thinking  only  of  her  son. 

If  a  Drumtochty  man  distinguished  himself  in  the 
great  world,  then  the  Glen  invested  his  people  with 
vicarious  honour,  and  gathered  greedily  every  scrap 
of  news.  Piggie  Walker  himself,  although  only  an 
associate  of  the  parish  by  marriage  and  many  trans- 
actions, would  not  have  visited  David  Ross  in  the 
Upper  Glen,  with  a  view  to  potatoes,  without  in- 
quiring for  David's  son  the  Professor;  and  after  the 
sale  was  effected  that  astute  man  would  settle  down 
with  genuine  delight  to  hear  the  last  letter,  dated 
from  a  Colonial  University  and  containing  an  account 
of  the  Professor's  new  discovery. 

It  was  Piggie  that  asked  for  the  letter ;  David  would 
not  have  offered  to  read  it  for  a  year  s  rent.  Drum- 
tochty parents  with  promising  sons  lived  in  terror 
lest  secret  pride  should  give  them  away  and  they  be 
accused  behind  their  backs  of  "  blawing,"  which  in  a 
weaker  speech  is  translated  boasting. 

David  considered,  with  justice,  that  they  ought  to 
take  special  care,  and  tried  to  guide  his  wife  with 
discretion. 

"We  maun  be  cannie  wi'  John's  title,  wumman,  for 
ye  ken  Professor  is  a  by-ordinar'  word  ;  a'  coont  it 
equal  tae  Earl  at  the  verra  least ;  an'  it  wudna  dae  tae 
be  aye  usm'  't. 

"  Ye  michtsay 't  aince  in  a  conversation,  juist  lettin' 
it  slip  oot  by  accident  this  wy,  '  the  Professor  wes 


222    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


sayin'  in  his  laist  letter  —  a'  mean,  oor  son  in  Aus- 
traly' —  but  a'  wud  ca'  him  John  at  ither  times. 
Pride 's  an  awfu'  mischief,  Meg." 

"  Ye  're  as  prood  as  a'm  masel,  David,  and  there  's 
nae  use  ye  scoldin'  at  me  for  giein'  oor  laddie  the 
honour  he  won  wi'  his  brain  an'  wark,"  and  the 
mother  flared  up.  "  A'm  no  feared  what  the  nee- 
burs  say.  Professor  he  is,  an'  Professor  a'll  ca' 
him;  ye 'ill  maybe  be  sayin'  Jock  next,  tae  show 
ye 're  humble." 

"  Dinna  tak  me  up  sae  shairp,  gude  wife,  or  think 
a'  wud  mak  little  o'  John ;  but  the  Almichty  hesna 
gien  ilka  faimily  a  Professor,  an'  a'm  no  wantin'  tae 
hurt  oor  neeburs,  an'  them  sae  ta'en  up  wi'  him  them- 
sels.  Ye  micht  read  his  laist  letter  again,  wumman; 
there 's  a  bit  a've  near  forgotten." 

Meg  went  to  the  drawers  where  she  kept  the  clothes 
he  wore  as  a  boy,  and  the  silk  dress  he  gave  her 
when  he  received  his  great  appointment,  and  the 
copies  of  his  books  bound  in  morocco,  which  he 
sent  home  with  this  inscription : 

"  To  my  Father  and  Mother. 

"  From  the  Author;  " 

and  every  scrap  of  paper  about  him  and  from  him 
she  had  ever  received. 

The  letter  is  taken  from  an  old  stocking,  and,  as 
she  pretends  to  some  difficulty  in  finding  the  place, 
Meg  is  obliged  to  read  it  for  the  forty-ninth  time 
throughout,  from  the  name  of  the  University  at  the 
head  to  the  signature: 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  223 


"  Heart's  love  to  you  both  from 

"  Your  ever  affectionate  son, 

"John  Ross;" 

while  David  makes  as  though  he  had  missed  a  word 
now  and  again  in  order  to  prolong  the  pleasure. 

It  was  not  hard  to  tell  that  he  had  such  a  letter  in 
his  pocket  on  the  Sab- 
bath, for  the  kirkyard 
was  very  cunning  in  its 
sympathy. 

"  Hoo  's  the  Professor 
keepin'  when  ye  heard 
laist,  Bo  gle  i  gh  ?  " 
Drumsheugh  would  say, 
skilfully  leading  up  to 
the  one  subject,  and 
careful  to  give  David 
his  territorial  designa- 
tion, although  it  was 
a  very  small  farm  in- 
deed ;  "  he  'ill  send  a 
scrape  o'  the  pen  at  a 

time,  a'm  expeckin',  gin  he  lies  a  meenut  tae  spare." 

"  Busy  or  no  busy,"  answers  Bogleigh,  "  he  maks 
time  tae  write  liame.  His  mither  hes  hed  a  letter 
frae  John  aince  a  week  withoot  fail  sin  he  left  Bog- 
leigh a  laddie  o'  saxteen  for  Edinburgh. 

"  They  're  no  juist  twa  or  three  lines,  aither,  but 
sax  an'  aught  sheets,"  continued  David,  warming. 
u  An'  the  names,  they  cowe  a' thing  for  length  an' 


MEG  WENT  TO  THE  DRAWERS 


224    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


learnin'.  Wud  ye  believe  it,  the  Professor  tells  his 
mither  every  article  he  writes,  and  a'  the  wark  he 
dis. 

"  He  wes  tellin'  's  laist  letter  aboot  some  graund 
discovery  he's  feenished,  an'  they 're  threatenin'  tae 
gie  hirn  a  new  title  for  't.  A'm  no  juist  sure  what  it 
means,  but  it  disna  maitter,  gin  the  laddie  dis  his  duty 
and  keep  his  health,"  and  David  affected  to  close  the 
subject.    "It's  fell  warm  the  day." 

"Ye '11  no  hae  that  letter  on  ye,  Bogie?"  inquired 
Jamie  Soutar,  anxiously.  "  Gin  ye  cud  pit  yir  hand 
on 't,  the  neeburs  wud  like  tae  hear  whatna  honour 
the  Professor 's  gotten." 

"  Na,  na,  Jamie,  it  disna  dae  for  a  body  tae  be 
deavin'  (deafening)  the  countryside  wi'  clavers  aboot 
his  bairns ;  if  it  hedna  been  Drumsheugh  speirin'  for 
John  a'  wudna  hae  said  a  word,  but  a'm  muckle 
obleeged,  and  sae  is  the  laddie,  for  a'  mind  hoo  he 
wrote,  '  My  respects  to  the  neighbours  on  Sabbath.'  " 

"  That  wes  rael  handsome,"  began  Whinnie,  much 
impressed  by  "  respects,"  "  but  a'  mind  the  Professor 
was  aye  a  douce  " 

"Div  ye  think,  Bogleigh,  that  the  Professor  belongs 
tae  yersel  noo  an'  the  gude  wife,"  broke  in  Jamie, 
"juist  as  if  he  were  some  ordinar'  man?  Na,  na ; 
gin  a  laddie  gaes  up  frae  the  Glen  tae  the  University, 
an'  comes  oot  at  the  tap  o'  his  classes,  bringin'  hame 
three  medals  ilka  spring,  an'  opens  secret  things  in 
nature  that  naebody  kent  afore,  an'  is  selected  by 
Government  tae  foond  places  o'  learnin'  ayont  the 
sea,  that  laddie  belangs  tae  Drumtochty. 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  225 


"  Div  ye  mind  the  day  his  life  wes  in  the  London 
Times,  and  Drumsheugh  read  it  at  the  Junction? 
1  This  eminent  man  of  science  was  born  at  Drum- 
tochty  in  Perthshire,  and  received  his  early  educa- 
tion at  the  parish  school.'  " 

"  Ye  hae  't  tae  a  word,  Jamie,"  said  Drumsheugh, 
and  passed  his  box,  in  name  of  the  Glen,  as  it  were, 
to  Domsie. 

"  Oor  standin'  measure,"  concluded  Jamie,  "  leavin' 
oot  Airchie  Moncur  and  masel,  will  rin  tae  aboot  sax 
feet,  but  a'  coontit  that  we  gaed  up  the  hill  that  nicht 
wi'  fower  inches  a  man  tae  spare.  Whar 's  that  letter, 
Bogleigh?" 

After  a  feint  of  seeking  it  in  his  trousers,  where  he 
was  as  likely  to  carry  it  as  the  family  Bible,  David 
produced  it  from  an  inner  breast  pocket,  wrapped 
in  newspaper,  and  handed  it  to  Domsie  without  a 
word. 

"  Div  ye  want  me  tae  read  it?  "  —  as  if  this  had  not 
been  the  schoolmaster's  due.  "  Weel,  weel,  a'll  dae 
ma  best,"  and  then  Domsie  laid  himself  out  to  do 
justice  to  the  Professor's  letter,  while  Drumtochty 
wagged  its  head  in  admiration. 

"  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society,"  and  Domsie 
became  solemn  to  the  height  of  reverence ;  "  this 
cowes  a'thing.  A'm  credibly  informed  that  this  is 
the  highest  honour  given  tae  learnin'  in  oor  land ; 
a'ill  be  boond  the'll  no  be  anither  F.R.S.  in  sax 
coonties ;  may  be  no  mair  than  twa  or  three  in  braid 
Scotland." 

"It's  the  graundest  thing  the  Glen's  dune  yet," 


226    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


and  Jamie  took  up  the  strain;  "  he 's  M.A.  already, 
an'  some  ither  letters  ;  ye  cudna  rin  them  ower?" 

Then  Domsie  gave  John  Ross's  degrees  one  by 
one.  "  That  comes  tae  five,  makin*  nae  mention  o' 
ither  honours  ;  there's  thirty-one  degrees  in  the  Glen 
the  noo,  and  John  heads  the  list,  if  a'  micht  call  a 
Professor  by  a  laddie's  name." 

"  Wha  lies  a  better  richt?"  said  the  father,  with 
much  spirit;  "  ye  laid  the  foondation  o't  a',  an'  he 
often  said  that  hirnsel." 

Opinion  differed  whether  David  or  Domsie  looked 
prouder  in  kirk  that  day,  but  Jamie  inclined  to 
Domsie,  whom  he  had  detected  counting  the  degrees 
over  again  during  the  chapter. 

Four  Sundays  after  David  appeared  in  the  kirkyard 
with  such  woe  upon  his  face  that  Drumsheugh  could 
only  imagine  one  reason,  and  omitted  preliminaries. 

"  Naethin'  wrang  wi'  the  Professor,  Bogleigh?" 
and  Domsie  held  his  pinch  in  mid  air. 

"  John  wes  deein'  when  this  letter  left,  an'  noo  he 
'ill  maybe  ...  be  dead  an'  buried  .  .  .  his  mither 
an'  me  were  ower  prood  o'  him,  but  ye  ken  hoo  .  .  . 
gude,"  and  the  old  man  broke  down  utterly. 

They  looked  helplessly  at  one  another,  averting 
their  gaze  from  the  Professor's  father,  and  then 
Drumsheugh  took  hold  of  the  situation. 

"  This  is  no  lichtsome,  Dauvid,  an'  the  neeburs  share 
yir  tribble,  but  dinna  gie  up  houp ;  "  and  then  Drums- 
heugh read  the  letter  from  Australia,  while  Hillocks 
and  Whinnie,  turning  their  backs  on  David,  sheltered 
his  grief  from  public  view. 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  227 


"  Dear  Mr.  Ross, —  You  will  have  noticed  that  the 
last  letter  from  my  friend  Dr.  Ross  was  written  in  a 
feeble  hand.  He  was  laid  down  about  three  weeks 
ago  with  what  has  turned  out  to  be  typhoid  fever,  and 
ought  not  to  have  seen  paper.  But  we  considered  the 
case  a  mild  one,  and  he  was  determined  to  send  his^ 
usual  letter  home.  Now  the  disease  has  taken  a  bad1 
turn,  and  he  is  quite  delirious,  mentioning  his  mother 
and  his  old  schoolmaster  by  turns,  and  thinking  that  he 
is  again  in  Drumtochty.  His  colleagues  in  medicine 
are  consulting  twice  a  day  about  him,  and  everything 
will  be  done  for  one  we  all  admire  and  love.  But  he 
is  very  low,  and  I  think  it  right  to  prepare  you  for 
what  may  be  bad  news.  —  Believe  me,  with  much  re- 
spect, yours  faithfully, 

"  Frederick  St.  Clair." 

"AVe  seen  a  mair  cheerfu'  letter,"  and  Drumsheugh 
looked  at  the  fathers  from  above  his  spectacles;  u  but 
it  micht  be  waur.  A'll  guarantee  the  Professor's  no 
as  far  through  wi't  as  Saunders,  an'  yonder  he  is  alive 
and  livin'  like,"  nodding  in  the  direction  where  that 
brawny  man  propped  up  the  gable  of  the  kirk  with 
his  shoulders  and  maintained  a  massive  silence  with 
Tammas  Mitchell. 

il  Nae  doot,  nae  doot,"  said  Hillocks,  deriving  just 
encouragement  from  the  study  of  Saunders's  figure; 
"aiftcr  the  wy  Wcelum  Maclure  brocht  Saunders 
through  a'  wud  houp  for  the  best  gin  a'  wes  Bog- 
leigh." 

"  Sae  a'  wud,  neeburs,"  and  David  came  forth  again, 


228    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


"  gin  we  hed  oor  laddie  at  hame  an'  oor  ain  man  tae 
guide  him.  But  there's  nae  Weelum  Maclure  oot 
yonder  —  naebody  but  strangers." 

"We  micht  ask  the  doctor  tae  pit  up  a  prayer," 
suggested  Hillocks;  "itcudna  dae  ony  mischief,  an' 
it 's  aye  a  comfort." 

"  He  daurna  dae 't,"  cried  David,  whose  mind  was 
quickened  by  grief ;  "  it  'ill  be  a  ower  lang  syne,  an' 
it's  no  lawfu'  tae  pray  for  .  .  .  the  dead." 

"  Dinna  be  feared,  Bogie,"  said  Jamie  ;  "  the  doctor  'ill 
tak  the  responsibeelity  himsel,  and  ye  may  be  sure 
he 'ill  get  some  road  oot  o'  the  wood.  It  wud  be  a 
puir  kirk  the  day  gin  we  cudna  plead  vvi'  the  Almichty 
for  oor  Professor." 

"  Ye  hae  the  word,  Jamie,"  said  Drumsheugh,  "an' 
a'll  gang  in  an'  tell  the  doctor  masel;"  but  Whinnie 
confessed  afterwards  that  he  thought  this  prayer  be- 
yond even  the  doctor. 

It  followed  the  petition  for  the  harvest,  and  this  was 
how  it  ran  —  the  Free  Kirk  people  had  it  word  for 
word  by  Monday  — 

"  Remember,  we  beseech  Thee,  most  merciful 
Father,  a  father  and  mother  who  wait  with  anxious 
hearts  for  tidings  of  their  only  son,  and  grant  that, 
before  this  week  be  over,  Thy  servant  who  is  charged 
with  many  messages  to  this  parish  may  bring  to  them 
good  news  from  a  far  country." 

"  Didna  a'  tell  ye?"  triumphed  Jamie,  going  down 
to  the  gate,  while  Posty,  who  had  required  the  whole 
length  of  the  sermon  to  recognise  himself,  departed, 
much  lifted,  declaring  aloud: 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  231 


"  The'll  be  nae  black  edge  in  the  bag  next  Friday, 
or  am  no  postman  o'  Drumtochty." 

Letters  for  Bogleigh  were  left  about  two  o'clock  in 
a  box  on  the  main  road  two  miles  distant,  and  brought 
up  by  the  scholars  in  the  evening;  but  it  was  agreed 
early  in  the  week  that  David  and  his  wife  should  go 


BOGLEIGH  FARM 


down  and  receive  the  letter  from  Posty's  own  hands 
on  Friday.  In  order  not  to  be  late,  Meg  rose  at  four 
that  morning  —  but  indeed  she  need  not  have  gone  to 
bed  —  and  by  eight  o'clock  was  afraid  they  might  be 
late.  Three  times  she  took  out  and  rearranged  her 
treasures,  and  three  times  broke  down  utterly,  because 
she  would  never  see  her  laddie  again.  They  followed 
Posty  from  his  start  outwards,  and  were  comforted 


232    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


about  eleven  with  the  thought  that  he  was  on  the 
return  journey. 

"  He 's  fairly  aff  for  hame  noo,  wumman,"  David 
would  say,  "  an'  wheepin'  through  Netheraird  ;  he's  no 
mair  than  ten  mile  awa',  a'll  warrant,  an'  he 's  a  terrible 
walker." 

"  He  'ill  surely  no  be  tastin'  at  the  Netheraird 
public-hoose,  Dauvid,  an'  loiterin' ;  a've  kent  him  no 
be  at  the  box  till  half  three." 

"  Na,  na,  there 's  nae  fear  o'  Posty  the  day ;  a'll  be 
boond  he's  savin'  every  meenut;  ye  mind  hoo  prood 
he  wes  tae  bring  the  letter  wi'  the  Professor's 
appintment." 

"  Is  n't  it  michty  tae  think  we  're  pittin'  aff  the  time 
here,"  and  Meg  began  to  get  ready,  "when  he's 
maybe  in  the  pairish  already?" 

It  was  exactly  a  quarter  past  twelve  when  the  two 
old  people  sat  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  firs  above 
the  box  to  wait  for  the  first  sight  of  Posty. 

"A'  daurna  meet  him,  Dauvid,  aifter  a',"  she  said; 
"  we  'ill  juist  watch  him  pit  the  letter  in,  and  slip  doon 
when  he's  gane,  an'  ...  oh!  but  a'  ken  what  it 'ill  be." 

"  A'm  expeckin'  tae  hear  John's  on  the  mend 
masel,"  said  David  manfully,  and  he  set  himself  to 
fortify  his  wife  with  Saunders's  case  and  the  doctor's 
prayer,  till  she  lifted  her  head  again  and  watched. 

A  summer  wind  passed  over  the  pines,  the  wood- 
pigeons  cooed  above  their  heads,  rabbits  ran  out 
and  in  beside  them,  the  burn  below  made  a  pleasant 
sound,  a  sense  of  the  Divine  Love  descended  on 
their  hearts. 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  233 

"  The  Almichty,"  whispered  Meg,  "  'ill  surely  no 
tak  awa'  oor  only  bairn  ...  an'  him  dune  sae  weel 
.  .  .  an'  sae  gude  a  son.  ...  A'  wes  coontin'  on  him 
comin'  hame  next  year  .  .  .  an'  seein'  him  aince  mair 
.  .  .  afore  a'  deed." 


GLEN  URTACH 

A  bread  cart  from  Kildrummie  lumbered  along  the 
road.  Maclure  passed  on  Jess  at  a  sharp  trot.  A 
company  of  tourists  returning  from  Glen  Urtach  sang 
"Will  ye  no  come  back  again?"  Donald  Menzies 
also  sang  as  he  brought  a  horse  from  the  smiddy,  but 
it  was  a  psalm  — 

"  I  to  the  hills  will  lift  my  eyes, 
From  whence  doth  come  mine  aid." 


234    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


"  Can  ye  no  see  him  yet,  Dauvid?  a'  doot  he 's  hed 
an  accident;  it  maun  be  lang  past  the  'oor  noo. 
Yonder  he  is." 

But  it  was  only  a  tramp,  who  hesitated  at  the  foot 

of  the  upland  road,  and 
then  continued  his  way 
to  the  village,  careless 
who  lived  or  died,  so 
that  he  had  meat  and 
drink. 

Round  the  distant 
corner  Posty  came  at 
last,  half  an  hour  before 
his  time  and  half  a  mile 
the  hour  above  his  com- 
mon speed. 

"  Wull  ye  gangdoon, 
Meg?" 

"A'  canna;  bring 't 
up  tae  me  when  he 's 
past,"  and  she  sat  down 
again  and  covered  her 
face ;  "  tell  me  gin  it 's 
come." 

Posty  halted  and 
swung  round  his  bag; 
he  took  out  the  packet  of  road-side  letters  and 
dropped  four  into  the  box  without  attention;  then 
he  kept  a  fifth  in  his  hands  and  hesitated ;  he  held 
it  up  against  the  light  as  if  he  would  have  read  its 
contents. 


POSTY  ON  THE  DYKE 


GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY  235 


"  He 's  got  it,  an',  Meg,  wumman,  a'  dinna  see  .  .  . 
ony  black  on  't." 

Posty  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said  aloud : 

"  A'll  risk  the  time  ;  it  'ill  no  tak  mair  than  an 
'oor,"  and  he  leaped  the  dyke. 

"  Lord's  sake,  Bogleigh,  is  that  you?  A'  wes 
thinkin'  o'  whuppin'  round  yir  wy  the  day  for  a 
change;  in  fac,"  and  Posty's  effort  at  indifference 
collapsed,  "  word 's  come  frae  Australy." 

"  Wull  ye  .  .  .  open 't  for's?  ma  hand 's  ...  no 
vcrra  steady,  an'  the  gude  wife  .  .  .  hesna  her 
glesses." 

"Mr.  David  Ross, 

Farmer, 

Bogleigh, 

Drumtochty, 

Scotland," 

read  Posty,  with  official  importance;  "that's  a'  richt, 
at  ony  rate." 

"  He  aye  sent  it  tae  his  mither  himsel ;  juist  read 
the  beginnm',  Posty  .  .  .  that  'ill  be  eneuch."  And 
David  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  letter,  while  Meg  dared 
not  breathe. 

"  It  affords  me  unspeakable  satisfaction,"  began 
Posty,  in  a  low  voice,  and  then  he  suddenly  lifted  it 
up  in  victory,  "  to  send  good  news.  The  very  day 
I  wrote,  the  worst  symptoms  disappeared,  and  your 
son  is  now  on  the  way  to  recovery." 

"  There 's  fower  pages,  an'  a'  can  read,  '  no  cause 
now  for  alarm,'  but  ye  canna  better  the  affset.  A' 


236    GOOD  NEWS  FROM  A  FAR  COUNTRY 


kent  what  it  wud  be ;  the  doctor  said  gude  news  in 
his  prayer,  and  that's  the  verra  word. 

"  Here,  Mistress  Ross,  is  the  letter,  for  Bogleigh 's 
no  fit  tae  tak  chairge  o't.  .  .  .  Me?  A've  dune  nae- 
thin'  but  cairry  it. 

"  A'll  no  deny,  though,  a'  wud  hae  liket  fine  tae 
hev  seen  the  inside  o't  doon  bye ;  sail,  as  sune  as  a' 
passed  the  boondary  o'  the  pairish  the  fouk  set  on 
me,  but  a'  cud  say  naethin'  mair  than  this,  '  There 's 
an  Australy  letter,  and  it 's  no  black-edged.' 

"  A'm  aff  noo,"  buckling  his  bag,  for  Mrs.  Ross 
had  risen,  and  was  threatening  to  seize  his  hand ; 
"  an'  it 's  worth  gaein'  up  the  Glen  the  day  wi'  sic 
news.  A'll  warrant  Domsie's  on  the  road  lang  syne. 
Ye  'ill  hae  the  Professor  wi'  ye  in  the  Kirk  again, 
gude  wife,  an'  the  neeburs  'ill  be  prood  tae  see  ye 
baith  gang  in  thegither,"  and  Posty  leapt  into  the 
road  like  a  four-year-old. 

Beginning  at  the  manse,  and  continuing  unto 
Drumsheugh,  there  was  not  a  house  along  the  road 
where  Posty  did  not  give  a  cry  that  day,  and  it  was 
affirmed  on  credible  evidence  in  the  kirkyard  next 
Sabbath  that  he  stood  upon  a  dyke  and  made 
Hillocks  understand  at  the  distance  of  two  fields' 
breadth  that  Drumtochty  had  still  a  Professor. 


JAMIE 


I 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 

EACH  community  has  its  own  etiquette,  and  in  an 
advanced  state  of  civilisation  such  beautiful  words  as 
"Mister"  and  "  Missus"  arc  on  every  one's  tongue, 
some  lonely  Northerner  perhaps  saying  "  Mistress," 
to  the  amusement  of  footmen  and  other  persons  of 
refinement.  While  Drumtochty  was  in  its  natural 
state,  and  the  influence  of  Southern  culture  had 
scarcely  begun  to  play  on  its  simplicity,  we  had  other 
forms  of  speech.  It  was  good  manners  to  call  a 
farmer  by  his  place ;  and  had  any  one  addressed 
Hillocks  as  Mr.  Stirton,  that  worthy  man  would  have 
been  much  startled.  Except  on  envelopes,  full-length 
names  were  reserved  for  the  heading  of  roups  and  the 
death  column  in  newspapers,  and  so  had  acquired  a 
flavour  of  ceremonious  solemnity.  Ploughmen  were 
distinguished  by  their  Christian  names  in  some  easy 
vernacular  form,  and  the  sudden  introduction  of  the 
surname  could  only  be  justified  by  a  furrow  that  sug- 
gested the  segment  of  a  circle  or  a  return  from  Kildrum- 
mie  fair  minus  a  cart  and  two  horses.  His  lordship 
might  notice  Drumsheugh's  foreman  as  he  passed  with 
a  "  Busy  as  usual,  Baxter,"  and  not  be  suspected  of 


240  JAMIE 

offence,  but  other  men  had  said,  "  Fine  fillin'  day, 
Saunders,"  to  which  Saunders  would  have  most  likely 
deigned  no  answer  save  a  motion  of  the  right  shoulder. 
Dignitaries  had  their  titles  by  prescriptive  right,  the 
parish  minister  being  " Doctor"  and  the  schoolmaster 
"  Dominie,"  but  only  one  man  in  the  Glen  had  the 


A  PLOUGHMAN 


distinction  of  a  diminutive,  and  it  was  a  standing 
evidence  of  his  place  in  our  hearts. 

It  was  mentioned  with  relish  that  a  Muirtown  mer- 
chant raiding  for  honey,  having  inquired  of  Whinnie 
Knowe  where  Mr.  James  Soutar  lived,  had  been 
gravely  informed  that  no  person  of  that  name  lived  in 
the  parish,  and  would  have  departed  to  search  for  him 
in  Kildrummie  had  he  not  chanced  on  Drumsheugh. 

"  Div  ye  mean  Jamie?  "  and  when  Hillocks  met  him 
two  miles  further  on  he  was  still  feasting  on  the 
incident. 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 


241 


"  He  said  '  Mister  James  Soutar  '  as  sure  as  ye  're 
lookin'  me  in  the  face,  Hillocks,"  and  both  tasted  the 
humour  of  the  situation,  which  owed  nothing  to  arti- 
fice, but  sprang  from  the  irony  of  circumstances. 

"  Jamie,"  ejaculated  Drumsheugh,  and  a  flood  of  rec- 
ollections—  scenes,  stories,  incidents  —  swept  across 
his  face.  Had  he  been  a  Kildrummie  man,  he  would 
have  laughed  at  the  things  he  heard  and  saw. 

"  Sail,"  wound  up  Hillocks,  who  had  been  tasting 
the  same  passed  in  silence,  "he's  an  awfu'  body, 
Jamie ;  ye  'ill  no  get  the  marra  (equal)  of  him  in  six 
pairishes." 

Drumtochty  did  not  ground  its  admiration  of  Jamie 
on  his  personal  appearance,  which  lent  itself  to 
criticism  and  suggested  a  fine  carelessness  on  the  part 
of  nature.  His  head  was  too  large  for  his  body,  and 
rested  on  his  chest.  One  shoulder  had  a  twist  forward 
which  invested  Jamie  with  an  air  of  aggression.  His 
legs  were  constructed  on  the  principle  that  one  knee 
said  to  the  other,  If  you  let  me  pass  this  time,  I  '11  let 
you  pass  next  time. 

"  Gin  ye  were  juist  tae  luke  at  Jamie,  ye  micht  ca'  him 
a  shachlin'  (shambling)  cratur,"  Drumsheugh  once 
remarked,  leaving  it  to  be  inferred  that  the  under- 
standing mind  could  alone  appreciate  him,  and  that 
in  this  matter  Drumtochty  walked  by  faith  and  not  by 
sight.  His  rate  of  progression  was  over  four  miles 
an  hour,  but  this  method  was  sideways,  and  was  so 
wonderful,  not  to  say  impressive,  that  even  a  phleg- 
matic character  like  Drumsheugh's  Saunders  had  been 
known  to  follow  Jamie's  back  view  till  it  disappeared, 


242 


JAMIE 


and  then  to  say,  "  michty,"  with  deliberation.  Young 
animals  that  developed  any  marked  individuality  in 
gait  were  named  after  Jamie  without  offence,  and 
were  understood  to  have  given  pledges  of  intelligence, 
since  it  was  believed  that  nature  worked  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  compensation. 

"  There's  been  an  oversicht  aboot  Jamie's  legs,  but 
there's  naethin'  wrang  wi'  his  tongue,"  and  it  was  the 
general  judgment  that  it  did  not  "  shachle." 

Jamie's  gift  of  speech  was  much  aided  by  eyes  that 
were  enough  to  redeem  many  defects  in  the  under 
building.  They  were  blue  —  not  the  soft  azure  of  the 
South,  but  the  steely  colour  of  a  Scottish  loch  in 
sunshine,  with  a  north-east  wind  blowing  —  a  keen, 
merciless,  penetrating  blue.  It  gave  a  shock  to  find 
them  fastened  on  one  when  he  did  not  know  Jamie  was 
paying  any  attention,  and  they  sobered  him  in  an 
instant.  Fallacies,  cant,  false  sentiment,  and  every 
form  of  unreality  shrivelled  up  before  that  gaze,  and 
there  were  times  one  dared  not  emerge  from  the 
shelter  of  the  multiplication  table.  He  had  a  way 
of  watching  an  eloquent  stranger  till  the  man's 
sentences  fell  to  pieces  and  died  away  in  murmurs 
before  he  said  "  Ay,  ay,"  that  was  very  effective ;  and 
when  he  repeated  this  deliverance,  after  a  pause  of 
thirty  seconds,  even  Whinnie  understood  that  the 
kirkyard  had  been  listening  to  nonsense. 

It  seems  but  yesterday  that  Milton — who  had 
come  into  the  Glen  a  month  before  from  Muirtown, 
and  visited  the  two  churches  to  detect  errors  for  two 
months  —  was  explaining  the  signs  of  true  religion 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 


243 


to  the  silent  kirkyard,  when  he  caught  Jamie's  eye 
and  fell  away  into  the  weather,  and  the  minister  of 
Kildrummie's  son,  who  was  preaching  for  the  doctor, 
and  winding  up  his  sermon  with  an  incredible  anecdote, 
came  under  the  spell  at  the  distance  of  the  pulpit,  and 
only  saved  himself  by  giving  out  a  psalm.  The  man 
who  passed  Jamie's  eye  was  true  to  the  backbone,  and 
might  open  his  mouth  in  any  place. 

Every  man  requires  room  for  the  play  of  his  genius, 
and  it  was  generally  agreed  that  Jamie,  who  had 
pricked  many  wind  bags,  came  to  his  height  in  dealing 
with  Milton. 

"  Milton  wes  faithfu'  wi'  ye  in  the  third  comin'  up 
frae  the  Junction  on  Friday  nicht,  a'm  hearin',  Drums- 
heugh ;  the  fouk  say  ye  were  that  affeckit  ye  cud 
hardly  gie  yir  ticket  tae  Peter." 

"  He 's  the  maist  barefaced  (impudent)  wratch 
that's  ever  been  seen  in  this  Glen,"  and  Drumsheugh 
went  at  large  ;  "  he  'ill  ask  ye  questions  nae  man  hes  ony 
richt  tae  pit  tae  neebur.  An'  a  wakely  cratur  as  weel, 
greetin'  an'  whinin'  like  a  bairn." 

"  A'm  astonished  at  ye,"  said  Jamie  in  grave  rebuke, 
"  an'  you  an  elder.  Ye  sud  be  thankfu'  sic  a  gude 
man  hes  come  tae  the  pairish.  There's  naethin'  but 
dry  banes,  he  says,  but  he 's  expeckin' tae  roose  us 
afore  he 's  dune. 

"  He 's  no  feared,  a'll  admit,"  continued  Jamie, 
"  but  a'm  no  sae  sure  that  he 's  wakely ;  ye  didna  hear 
o'  him  an'  his  pairtner  in  the  cloth  shop  at  Muirtown." 

The  kirkyard  thirsted  for  the  news. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  the  pairtner  pit  in  five  hundert,  an' 


244 


JAMIE 


Milton  pit  in  five,  and  they  cairried  on  business  for 
sax  year  thegither.  They  separated  laist  spring,  an' 
Milton  cam  oot  wi'  a  thoosand  an'  the  pairtner  wi' 
naethin'. 

"  Milton  hed  been  sairly  tried  wi'  the  ither  man's 
warldliness,  walkin'  on  Sabbath  an'  sic-like,  an'  he  wes 
sayin'  in  the  train  that  he  felt  like  Jacob  wi'  Esau 
all  the  time.  It's  grand  tae  hae  the  poor  o'  Bible 
illustration.  A  thoosand  wud  juist  stock  Milton  fine, 
an'  leave  a  note  or  tvva  in  the  bank. 

"  What  a'm  feared  for  is  that  some  misguided 
Drumtochty  man  micht  try  tae  tak  advantage  o' 
Milton  in  a  bargain  an'  get  a  jidgment.  Provi- 
dence, ye  ken,  watches  ovver  thae  simple-minded 
craturs,  an'  it 's  juist  vvunnerfu'  hoo  they  come  aff 
in  the  end.  But  a'm  dootin'  that  he's  no  strong; 
he  lies  tae  tak  care  o'  himsel." 

As  the  fathers  waited  patiently  for  more,  Jamie 
continued  in  his  most  casual  tone  : 

"  He  cairried  a  box  in  his  hand  Eriday  a  week, 
an'  pit  it  ablow  the  seat  in  the  kerridge ;  it  wes 
aboot  auchteen  inches  square  and  nine  deep,  an' 
markit  '  Hoggs'  Patent  Soap ;  '  thae  new  soaps  are 
brittle;  a'  dinna  wunner  he  wes  carefu'. 

"  Ye  sud  hae  heard  him  on  the  drinkin'  at  Muir- 
town  market  an'  the  duty  of  total  abstinence ;  he 
wantit  Hillocks  tae  tak  the  pledge  at  the  Junction, 
but  Drumtochty  fouk 's  dour  an'  ill  tae  manage, 

"  Milton  wes  that  agitat  when  he  got  tae  Kil- 
drummie  that  he  lat  his  box  fa'  on  the  platform ; 
a'  wes  juist  wunnerin'  whether  they  sell  soap  in 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 


245 


bottles  noo,  when  he  said,  1  It 's  ma  medeecine,  for 
the  circulation  o'  the  blood  ;  a'm  a  frail  vessel.' 

"  A'  thocht  that  we  micht  hae  been  kinder  tae 
Milton,  an  him  sic  a  sufferer;  twelve  quart  bottles 
is  a  sair  allowance  o'  medeecine  for  ae  puir  man,"  and 
a  far-away  look  came  into  Jamie's  face. 

Jamie's  interest  in  Milton  deepened  every  week, 
till  he  seemed  to  charge  himself  with  the  vindication 
of  Milton's  character  against  all  aspersions,  and  its 
interpretation  to  a  critical  public.  When  it  passed 
round  Kildrummic  fair  that  that  guileless  man  had 
landed  a  cow  on  Mary  Robertson  at  a  high  price, 
which  was  fair  to  look  upon,  but  had  a  fixed  ob- 
jection to  giving  milk,  Jamie  declared  it  was  an 
invention  of  the  enemy,  and  assured  Milton  of  his 
unshaken  confidence  in  the  presence  of  seven 
solemnised  neighbours. 

"  Some  ill-set  wratches,"  he  apologised  to  Milton, 
"  canna  bear  the  sicht  o'  a  raelly  glide  man,  an'  are 
aye  gettin'  up  stories  aboot  him.  Tae  think  ye  wud 
cheat  a  puir  wumman  aboot  a  coo." 

"  We  maun  juist  bear  reproach,"  began  Milton, 
with  his  best  accent. 

"  Na,  na,  a'  said  tae  them,"  and  Jamie  refused  to 
listen,  "  ye  needna  tell  me  ony  sic  stories.  Milton 
is  no  an  ordinary  professor,  an'  he  kens  his  Bible. 
Div  ye  think  he 's  forgotten  the  passage  aboot 
robbin'  the  widow?  " 

"  Ye  're  makin'  a  mistak  " 

"  Ma  verra  words,  Milton.  '  It 's  been  a  mistak,' 
a'  said,  '  an'  the  meenut  he  finds  it  oot,  Milton  'ill  gie 


246 


JAMIE 


back  the  money.  What  richt  hae  ye  tae  consider 
him  little  better  than  a  twa-faced  heepocrite? '  " 

"  There 's  no  a  man  in  the  Glen  wud  hae  got 
Mary's  notes  back  frae  Milton  but  yersel,  Jamie," 
said  Drumsheugh,  celebrating  the  achievement  in 
the  kirkyard  next  Sabbath.  "  There 's  a  michty 
poor  in  a  nippy  tongue." 

Milton  lost  his  second  wife  shortly  after  he  came 
to  the  Glen,  and  it  fell  to  Jamie  to  explain  the 
widower's  feelings  to  the  fathers. 

"  '  It 's  a  sair  dispensation,'  he  said  tae  me,  1  an' 
comes  heavy  when  the  calves  are  young;  but  we 
maunna  complain.  There 's  aye  mercy  mingled  wi' 
judgment.  She  micht  hae  been  taken  afore  she  hed 
got  the  hoose  in  order. 

"  '  A'm  houpin'  for  the  best,  an'  a  think  the  root 
o'  the  maitter  wes  in  her ;  there  wes  times  a'  wud  hae 
liked  tae  hear  a  clearer  testimony,  but  we  hevna  a' 
the  same  gifts,  an'  there 's  nae  doot  she  wes  savin' 
wi*  the  gear. 

"  '  She  expressed  hersel  as  thankfu'  for  oor  mer- 
ridge,  an'  considered  it  a  priveelege ;  but  ma  first 
wes  mair  experienced  in  doctrine,  and  hed  a  gift  o' 
prayer,  though  fractious  in  temper  at  a  time.  Ye 
canna  get  a'thing,  ye  ken.' 

"  He  lies  a  photograph  o'  the  laist  ane  abune  the 
fireplace  in  a  frame  wi'  an  inscription,  an'  he  wipit  his 
eyes  an'  says,  '  We  maun  look  up,  ma  freend,  an'  be 
resigned  ;  it's  an  awfu'  job  tae  ideelise  the  creature.' 

Ye 'ill  no  dae  weel  withoot  a  wife  here,  Milton,' 
says  I ;  '  hoosekeepers  are  dear,  an'  ye  'ill  never  get 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 


247 


the  wark  o'  yir  wife  oot  of  ane  ;  it  vves  maybe  a  peety 
ye  lat  her  trachle  (fatigue)  hersel  when  she  wesna 
strong,  but  gin  a  man  be  busy  wi'  speeritual  affairs 
he  disna  notice,'  an'  a'  askit  him  if  he  wes  thinkin'  o' 
a  third." 

"  Did  ye  dae  that,  Jamie?  "  said  Hillocks,  "  an'  her 
no  gane  a  month.  Milton  'ill  think  us  a  gey  hard- 
hearted set  in  Drumtochty,"  and  the  fathers  looked 
as  if  Jamie  had  gone  too  far. 

"  He 's  no  hed  ony  time  tae  think  o't  yet,"  con- 
tinued Jamie,  quietly,  "  an'  is  tae  leave  himsel  in  the 
hands  o'  Providence.  '  I  'ill  be  guidit,  nac  doot,  an'  a' 
maun  juist  wait.'  His  langidge  wes  beautiful  tae 
hear.  '  Half  the  rent  o'  Milton 'ill  need  tae  come  oot 
the  dairy,  but  we  maun  mairry  in  the  Lord.'  He 
wes  sair  affeckit  a'  left,  and  speakin'  aboot  '  Mama.' 
A'  gie  him  sax  months  masel." 

"  Yir  tongue  got  the  better  o'  ye  that  day,  a' 
doot,  Jamie,"  and  Hillocks,  who  had  married  twice 
with  fair  pecuniary  success,  was  distinctly  nettled. 
"  What 's  a  man  tae  dae  withoot  a  wife  tae  baud 
things  in  aboot  an'  see  tae  the  hens?  Forbye,  bcin' 
company,"  throwing  in  a  sentimental  consideration. 

"  Gin  a  man  wants  a  woman  tae  gither  eggs  an' 
sew  buttons  on  his  sark  (shirt),  he  micht  mairry  twal 
times  rinnin ,  an'  naebody  need  say  a  word.  But 
what  richt  lies  sic  a  man  tae  speak  o'  wife  or  .  .  . 
luve?    He's  juist  a  poleegamist." 

"  Lord's  sake,"  ejaculated  Hillocks,  and  the  kirk- 
yard  felt  that  this  was  very  wild  talk  indeed,  and 
even  personal. 


248 


JAMIE 


"  Naethin'  else,"  and  Jamie's  voice  vibrated  with  a 
new  note.  "  Gin  a  man  gaes  afore  his  family  tae 
America  tae  mak  a  hame  for  them,  an'  leaves  his  wife 
here  for  a  whilie,  is  he  no  mairrit?  Wud  he  mairry 
another  wife  oot  there  tae  keep  his  hoose,  an'  say  he 

hed  juist  ae  wife 
because  theseawes 
rollin'  atween  the 
twa  women?  " 

"He  daurna," 
replied  Whinnie, 
who  never  saw  six 
inches  ahead ;  "  the 
polis  "  But 


Drumsheugh  waved 
him  to  silence. 

"  Weel,  gin  the 
woman  leaves  the 
man  an'  passes  in- 
tae  the  ither  warld, 
is  she  deid,  think 
ye,  neeburs,  an'  is 
she  no'  his  wife? 
An'  mair  nor  that, 
are  the  twa  no'  nearer  than  ever,  an'  .  .  .  dearer? 

"  Ye  'ill  be  sayin'  in  yir  herts,  it's  no  for  Jamie 
Soutar  tae  be  speakin'  like  this,  him  at 's  been  alane 
a'  his  days ;  but  a've  ma  ain  thochts,  an'  the  deepest 
thing,  ay,  an'  the  bonniest,  in  the  warld  is  a  man  an' 
a  wumman  ane  in  luve  for  ever." 

Jamie    turned    round   and    went   into   the  kirk 


SEEING  TO  THE  HENS 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 


249 


hurriedly,  but  Drumsheugh  lingered  behind  for  a 
minute  with  Dr.  Maclure,  who  was  making  his 
quarterly  attendance. 

"  What  think  ye  o'  that,  Weelum?  It  bore  a  wee 
hard  on  Hillocks,  but  it  wes  michty  speakin'  an' 
gared  (made)  the  blood  rin.  Jamie 's  a  hard  wratch 
ootside,  but  he 's  gude  stuff  inside." 

"  Did  ye  ever  notice,  Drum,  that  Jamie  hes  hed  a 
black  band  on  his  Sabbath  hat  as  far  back  as  a'  can 
mind?  A'  his  freends  are  deid  mair  than  thirty  year 
syne.  Wha 's  it  for,  think  ye  ?  A'm  thinkin' naebody 
'ill  get  tac  the  boddom  o'  Jamie  till  he  fins  oot  the 
meanin'  o'  that  band." 

"  Ye  may  be  richt,  Weelum,  an'  a've  wunnered  tae, 
but  Jamie  'ill  never  tell ;  he  hes  his  ain  secret,  an'  he 
'ill  keep  it."  The  two  men  followed  their  neighbours, 
and  Drumsheugh  said  to  himself,  "  Puir  Jamie ;  the 
auld  story." 

The  kirkyard  kept  Jamie  in  exercise,  but  it  was  on 
one  of  our  rare  public  occasions  that  he  made  history, 
and  two  of  his  exploits  are  still  subjects  of  grateful 
recollection,  and  a  bond  between  Drumtochty  men 
in  foreign  parts.  One  was  the  vote  of  thanks  to  the 
temperance  lecturer  who  had  come,  with  the  best 
intentions,  to  reform  the  Glen,  and  who,  with  the 
confidence  of  a  youthful  Southern  and  a  variable 
hold  of  the  letter  aitch,  used  great  freedom  of  speech. 
He  instructed  us  all,  from  Doctor  Davidson  in  the 
chair  down  to  the  smith,  whom  he  described  as  "  an 
intelligent  hartisan,"  and  concluded  with  a  pointed 
appeal  to  Domsie  to  mend  his  ways  and  start  a  Band 
of  Hope  in  the  school. 


250 


JAMIE 


"  Solomon  says,  '  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  that 
he  should  go,  and  when  he  is  old  he  will  never  depart 
from  it ; '  and  I  '11  apply  these  words  to  the  Glen  of 
Drumtochty,  '  Train  hup  a  child  to  'ate  the  bottle, 
and  when  he  is  old  he 'ill  never  depart  from  it;'" 
and  the  lecturer  sat  down  in  a  silence  that  might  be 
heard. 

There  was  something  approaching  a  rustle  when 
Jamie  rose  to  propose  the  vote  of  thanks  —  several 
charging  themselves  with  snuff  in  haste,  that  a  word 
might  not  be  lost  —  and  no  one  was  disappointed. 

"  Doctor  Davidson  an'  neeburs,"  said  Jamie,  "  it 
wudna  be  richt  that  this  young  gentleman  sud  come 
sae  far  o'  his  ain  accord  and  give  us  sic  a  faithfu' 
address  withoot  oor  thanks,  although  he  'ill  excuse 
us  puir  country  fouk  for  no  bein'  able  to  speak  his 
beautiful  English. 

"  We  a'  admired  his  ingenious  application  o' 
Proverbs,  an'  he  may  be  sure  that  nane  o'  us  'ill  for- 
get that  new  Proverb  as  lang  as  we  live  ;  a'  micht  say 
that  it  'ill  be  a  household  word  in  the  Glen. 

"  Gin  it's  no  presumption  tae  say  it,  it's  verra 
interestin'  tae  see  hoo  much  experience  the  lecturer 
hes  for  his  years  in  the  up  bringing  o'  bairns,  and  a' 
mak  nae  doot  the  learned  bodies  in  the  Glen,  as  well 
as  the  parents,  'ill  lay  his  words  tae  hert. 

"  There  wes  a  man  in  a  Glen  north-bye," 
modestly  offering  an  anecdote  for  the  lecturer's 
future  use,  "  'at  wes  sober  (ill),  an'  the  doctor,  wha 
wes  a  verra  ignorant  man,  said  he  wud  need  a  small 
tastin'  tae  keep  up  his  strength.    But  the  man  wes 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 


251 


of  the  lecturer's  persuasion,  and  wud  drink  nothing 
but  water.  The  weather  wes  terrible  cold,  and  one 
day,  juist  five  minutes  aifter  he  hed  his  mornin'  gless 
of  water,  the  man  died.  When  they  opened  him  it 
wes  found  that  he  hed  frozen  up  inch  by  inch,  and 
the  laist  gless  had  juist  turned  tae  ice  in  his  throat. 
It  wes  sic  a  noble  instance  o'  conscientious  adherence 
tae  principle  that  a'  thocht  a'  wud  mention  it  for  the 
lecturer's  encouragement."  And  when  Jamie  sat 
down  the  audience  were  looking  before  them  with  an 
immovable  countenance,  and  the  doctor  held  out  his 
silver  snuff-box  to  Jamie  afterwards  with  marked 
consideration. 

It  is,  however,  generally  agreed  that  Jamie's  most 
felicitous  stroke  was  his  guileless  response  to  the 
humiliating  invitation  of  a  lay  preacher,  who  had 
secured  the  use  of  the  Free  Kirk,  and  held  a  meeting 
under  Milton's  auspices. 

"  Now,  my  dear  friends,"  said  the  good  man,  a 
half-pay  Indian  Colonel,  with  a  suspicion  of  sun- 
stroke, "  all  who  wish  to  go  to  heaven,  stand  up ;  "  and 
Drumtochty  rose  in  a  solid  mass,  except  Lachlan 
Campbell,  who  considered  the  preacher  ignorant  of 
the  very  elements  of  doctrine,  and  Jamie,  who  was 
making  a  study  of  Milton  with  great  enjoyment. 

Much  cheered  by  this  earnest  spirit,  the  Colonel 
then  asked  any  Drumtochty  man  (or  woman)  who 
wished  to  go  elsewhere  to  declare  himself  after  the 
same  fashion. 

No  one  moved  for  the  space  of  thirty  seconds, 
and  the  preacher  was  about  to  fall  back  on  general 


252 


JAMIE 


exhortation,  when  Jamie  rose  in  his  place  and  stood 
with  great  composure. 

"  You  surely  did  not  understand  what  I  said,  my 
aged  friend." 

Jamie  indicated  that  he  had  thoroughly  grasped 
the  Colonel's  meaning. 


THE  FREE  KIRK  AND  MANSE  FROM  THE  REAR 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  you  are  ready  to  .  .  . 
go  .  .  .  where  I  mentioned?" 

"A'm  no  anxious  for  sic  a  road,"  said  Jamie, 
blandly,  "  but  a'  cudna  bear  tae  see  ye  stannin' 
alane,  and  you  a  stranger  in  the  pairish,"  and  Drum- 
tochty,  which  had  been  taken  unawares  and  was 
already  repenting  a  weak  concession,  went  home 
satisfied. 

Hillocks  was  so  drawn  to  Jamie  after  this  incident 
that  he  forgave  him  his  wild  views  on  marriage,  and 


A  NIPPY  TONGUE 


253 
his  hat- 


aftbrded  him  an  opportunity  of  explainin 
band. 

"  Yc  're  a  body,  Jamie,"  he  said  in  vague  compli- 
ment, "  an'  every  man  hes  his  ain  wys ;  but  hoo  is 't 
that  ye  aye  hae  a  band 
on  yir  hat?  " 

"  What  think  ye  yer- 
sel?"  and  Jamie  eyed 
Hillocks  with  a  gleam 
of  humour. 

"  As  sure 's  deith,  Ja- 
mie, a'  canna  guess,  un- 
less it  be  a  notion." 

"Toots,man,a'thocht 
yc  wud  hae  been  sure 
tae  jalousc  the  truth  o' 
a'  the  fouk  in  the  Glen  ; 
div  ye  no  ken  that  a 
band  hides  the  grease 
an'  maks  a  hat  laist 
twice  as  lang?  " 

"  Is  that  a'  ?  "  said 
Hillocks;  "juist  econ- 
omy?" 

"  Ye  hae  the  word,"  answered  Jamie,  with  unblush- 
ing face.  "  That  band 's  savit  me  the  price  o'  twa 
new  hats  in  forty  year." 

It  was  on  the  way  home  from  kirk,  and  after 
Hillocks  had  turned  into  his  own  road  Jamie  took 
off  his  hat  and  brushed  the  band  with  a  reverent 
hand- 


JAMIE  TOOK  OFF  HIS  HAT  AND 
BRUSHED  THE  BAND 


II 


A  CYNIC'S  END 

When  Jamie  "  slippit  awa' "  and  the  kirkyard  met. 
to  pass  judgment,  it  was  agreed  that  he  had  been 
a  thorough-going  impostor  and  had  quite  befooled 
the  outer  world,  but  that  he  had  never  taken  in  the 
Glen. 

"  It  cowed  a'  tae  hear  Kildrummie  lecturin'  on 
Jamie  in  the  third  laist  Friday,"  said  Drumsheugh, 
with  immense  contempt;  "  ye  sud  hae  been  there, 
Hillocks;  a'  never  heard  as  muckle  doonricht  non- 
sense atween  the  Junction  an'  the  station  in  forty 
year.  Man,  gin  Jamie  hed  juist  been  in  the  train 
himsel,  he  wud  hae  been  terrible  pleased. 

"  '  He  's  awa'  noo,'  says  that  juitlin'  (tricky)  twa- 
faced  body  Sandie  Mackay,  that  gied  Jamie  licht 
wecht  wi'  his  coal,  '  an'  it 's  oor  duty  tae  be  chari- 
table, but  a've  ma  doots  aboot  him.  His  tongue 
wes  nae  scannal,  an'  he  wes  aye  maist  veecious 
against  speeritual  releegion.'  " 

"  What  said  ye,  Drumsheugh?"  inquired  Hillocks, 
with  keen  expectation. 

"  Naethin'  worth  mentionin' ;  it 's  no  easy  pittin' 
sense  intae  a  Kildrummie  man.    '  Ye  're  wrang  aboot 


A  CYNIC'S  END 


255 


Jamie  unseam'  gude  men,  Sandie,  for  he  wes  awfu' 
taen  (taken)  up  wi'  Milton;  he  coonted  him  a  straich- 
forrit,  honourable  man,  wha  wudna  gie  licht  wecht 
or  tak  advantage  o'  a  neebur.' " 

"  4  Ye  hed  him  there;  he  wud  lat  Jamie  alane  aifter 
that,  a'm  expeckin'." 

"  '  It 's  a  feedin'  storm  an'  no  lichtsome  for  the 
sheep,'  wes  a'  he  said. 

"  Na,  na,  Sandie  needna  speak  tae  a  Drumtochty 
man  aboot  Jamie;  he  didna  live  here  a'  his  days 
withoot  oor  kennin'  him.  There 's  nae  doot  he  hed 
a  tongue,  but  it  wes  aye  on  the  richt  side. 

"  Div  ye  mind  hoo  he  yokit  on  the  kirkyaird 
ae  day  for  lauchin'  at  Airchie  Moncur  an'  his 
teatotalism?  it  took  us  a'  oor  time  tae  quiet  him, 
he  wes  that  croose;  and  ye  ken  it  wes  Jamie  that 
focht  awa'  wi'  Posty  till  the  morning  he  wes  drooned. 
He  got  him  doon  tae  twa  gless  a  day,  an'  micht  hae 
reformed  him  athegither  gin  he  hedna  been  interrupit. 

"  His  hert  wes  juist  owcr  big,  that  wes  the  maittcr 
wi'  Jamie,  an'  he  hoddit  (hid)  his  feelings  for  fear  o' 
makin'  a  fule  o'  himsel  afore  the  pairish. 

"  Sail,  he  wesna  verra  parteeklar  what  he  said  gin 
ye  hed  him  in  a  corner.  He  nursit  the  bit  lassie  that 
lived  wi'  Mary  Robertson  for  a  hale  day  when  she 
wes  deein'  o'  diptheria,  an'  threipit  tae  me  that  he 
hed  juist  gi'en  a  cry  in  passin',  an'  when  Lily  Grant 
deed  in  London,  he  gied  oot  that  her  mistress  hed 
paid  for  bringin'  the  corpse  tae  Drumtochty  kirkyaird. 
He  cud  lee  near  as  weel  as  Milton,  but  it  wes  aye  tae 
cover  his  ain  gudeness, 


256 


JAMIE 


"A'  coontit  Weelum  Maclure  an'  Jamie  Soutar  the 
warmest  herts  in  the  Glen,  an'  Jamie 's  never  been 
the  same  sin  ...  we  lost  Weelum.  The  kirkyaird 's 
no  worth  comin'  tae  noo  that  Jamie 's  awa'." 

It  spoke  volumes  for  Milton's  zeal  that  he  was 
among  the  first  to  visit  Jamie  after  he  took  to  bed, 
and  the  Glen  can  never  be  sufficiently  thankful  that 
Elspeth  Macfadyen  was  present  to  give  an  accurate 
account  of  the  interview. 

"  '  Whatna  step  is  that  at  the  door  ? '  said  Jamie ; 
'  a'  never  herd  it  here  afore ;  '  and  when  a'  telt  him 
it  wes  Milton,  he  gied  me  a  luke  an'  briskit  up  that 
meenut. 

" '  Elspeth,  he 's  come  tae  dae  me  gude,  an'  he 
thinks  he  hes  me  in  his  hand ;  pit  him  in  yon  chair 
whar  a'  can  keep  ma  een  on  him,  for  a'  canna  manage 
him  oot  o'  ma  sicht.' 

"  '  It 's  solemn  tae  see  ye  brocht  sae  low,  Jam  — 
Mister  Soutar;'  he  thocht  he  micht  try  Jamie  at 
laist,  but  the  spunk  gied  oot  o'  him  facin'  Jamie. 
*  Thae  strokes  are  sent  for  a  wise  end;  they  humble 
oor  pride.' 

"  '  It 's  no  a  stroke,'  said  Jamie,  lookin'  fearsome 
at  him  frae  ablow  his  nicht-cap,  '  though  a'll  no  deny 
there  micht  be  a  titch  o'  rheumaticks.  But  a'  coont 
lumbago  mair  subduin' ;  it  taks  ye  sudden  in  the  sma 
o'  the  back,  an'  'ill  keep  ye  in  the  bit  for  an  'oor.' 

" '  A'  wes  thinkin'  o'  the  hert,  no  the  body,  ma 
freend/  an'  Milton  started  on  the  whine;  '  a've  been 
afflickit  masel,  an'  dinna  ken  what  a'd  been  the  day 
hed  it  no  been  for  trials.' 


A  CYNIC'S  END 


257 


"  «  Ye  needna  tell  me,  Milton,  for  a'body  kens  yir 
losses,  but  a'  houp  ye  'ill  hae  the  present  gude  wife  a 
whilie;  is  she  yir  third  or  fourth?  for  ma  memory's 
gaein'  fast.' 

"  Milton  said  naethin'  for  a  meenut,  an'  a'  daurna 
look  at  him,  but  Jamie's  een  were  dancin'  in  his 
heid;  he  wes  haein'  his  last  bout  wi'  Milton,  an' 
it  wes  meat  an'  drink  tae  him. 

"  '  Wud  ye  like  me  tae  read  somethin'?'  begins 
Milton  again.  'A've  a  fine  tract  here,  "A  Sandy 
Foundation;"  it's  verra  searchin'  an'  rousin','  an' 
he  pits  on  his  glesses. 

"  '  Thank  ye,'  says  Jamie,  '  but  thae  tracts  are  ower 
deep  for  a  simple  man  like  masel ;  the  Bible  dis  for 
me  graund.  A've  a  favourite  passage;  noo  if  ye 
didna  mind  readin'  't,  it  wud  be  a  comfort. 

"  '  Turn  tae  the  23rd  o'  Matthew,  an'  it 'ill  dae  fine 
gin  ye  begin  at  the  13th  verse,  "  Woe  unto  ye, 
Scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites,"  '  an'  as  sure  as 
a'm  lookin'  at  ye,  Drumsheugh,  Jamie  gared  Milton 
feenish  the  chapter,  an'  ilka  time  heepocrites  wud 
come  he  wud  say  tae  himsel,  '  Maist  comfortin','  till 
a'  hed  tae  gae  ootside ;  he  wes  a  veecious  cratur, 
Jamie,  when  he  hed  an  ill-wull  tae  a  body. 

"When  a'  cam  in,  Milton  hed  been  wantin'  tae 
pray,  and  Jamie  wes  layin'  doon  three  condeetions. 

"  '  First,  ye  maunna  scriech  (scream),  for  that  wud 
gae  through  ma  head  ;  secondly,'  just  like  a  sermon, 
1  ye  're  no  tae  gang  wanderin'  aifter  the  Jews  or  ony 
orra  fouk ;  and  laist,  there 's  tae  be  naethin*  personal, 
for  a'  wud  coont  that  doonricht  impidence.' 

17 


258 


JAMIE 


"  *  A'm  astonished  at  ye,'  says  Milton ;  '  hoo  cud 
ye  expect  a  blessin'  on  sic  a  prayer?  '  an'  he  rises  tae 
leave.  '  Ye  're  sure  there  's  naethin'  on  yir  mind,  for 
a've  hed  experience.' 

" '  Weel,  Milton,  noo  that  ye 've  mentioned  't, 
there  is  a  maitter  tribblin'  me,  but  it's  no  every  man 
a'  cud  trust,  an'  a'  dinna  want  tae  burden  ye.' 

" '  Is 't  a  sin  o'  omission  or  commission?'  an' 
Milton  wes  as  keen  as  a  ferret.  Puir  cratur,  little 
he  kent  Jamie. 

"  '  Curious  tae  say,  it's  baith;  it's  maist  extra- 
ordinar'  hoo  near  ye 've  come  tae't;  hoo  cud  ye 
ken  ? ' 

"  1  We  're  a'  frail,  Mister  Soutar,'  an'  Milton  lookit 
as  if  butter  cudna  melt  in  his  mooth ;  '  ye  michtna 
think  it,  but  a've  been  tempit  masel — lang  syne,  of 
coorse  ;  baith,  omission  an'  commission,  did  ye  say? 
that's  no  sae  common.' 

"  '  Na,  it  taks  an  accompleeshed  sinner  tae  manage 
baith  at  the  same  time,  an'  a'll  tell  ye  the  case,'  an' 
a'  saw  something  wes  comin'. 

"  '  Ye  ken  Sandie  Mackay,  wha  sells  coals  at  Kil- 
drummie  station  on  week-day  and  preaches  roond 
the  country  on  Sabbaths.  Drumsheugh's  Saunders 
brocht  up  ma  laist  load  frae  Sandie ;  "  half  a  ton  best 
burning  coal"  wes  on  the  paper,  an'  wud  ye  believe 
me,  a  hundredwecht  short  measure,  an'  half  o'  them 
third  quality  —  omission  an'  commission. 

"'A'  can  see  ye 're  scandalised,  for  a'  mind  noo, 
ye've  been  acquant  wi'  Sandie  in  meetings;  noo, 
Milton,  a'  wes  calc'latin'  that  a've  lost  sax  and  two- 


READING  TO  JAMIE  FROM  THE  BIBLE 


A  CYNIC'S  END 


261 


pence  exactly,  and  gin  ye  cud  get  it  oot  o'  the  waefu' 
wratch,  this  week,  a'd  sough  awa'  easier.'  Milton 
made  aff  withoot  anither  word,  an'  the  bed  shook 
ablow  Jamie." 

The  afflicted  patient  was  sitting  up  in  bed  when 
Doctor  Davidson  came  in,  and  would  have  concealed 
his  occupation  had  it  been  possible  to  get  a  large 
paper  kite  out  of  sight. 

"It's  for  Saunders's  laddie  at  Drumsheugh,"  he 
apologised  ;  "  he 's  ane  o'  the  maist  impident  an'  mis- 
chievous smatchits  (little  fellow)  in  the  Glen.  If  a' 
didna  help  him  wi'  his  bit  trokes  there  wudna  be  a 
floor  left  in  ma  gairden  ;  the  bairns  are  juist  the 
trachle  o'   ma  life." 

"  Quite  so,  Jamie  ;  and  of  all  the  people  in  the 
Glen  there 's  nobody  you  like  so  well  and  none  that 
love  you  more.  The  more  you  scold  them,  the  more 
they  come  to  you.  As  for  the  women,  you 've  been 
criticising  them  for  a  generation,  and  now  they're  all 
fighting  for  the  honour  of  nursing  you." 

"Havers,"  responded  Jamie,  "it's  juist  tae  get  a 
sicht  o'  the  inside  o'  a  weel-kept  hoose,  and  tak  a 
lesson  in  order,  though  a'll  no  deny  that  Elspeth 
Macfadyen  an'  auld  Mary  hev  been  verra  attentive, 
as  weel  as  Bell  Baxter  an'  Annie  Mitchell." 

"  It 's  just  a  pity,  Jamie,  that  so  good-hearted  a 
man  never  had  a  woman  of  his  own.  What  set  you 
against  marriage?  " 

"  Wha  sed  a'  wes  against  merridge,  Doctor  David- 
son?" and  Jamie's  face  flushed.  "  Did  ever  man  or 
woman  hear  me  speak  lichtly  o'  the  mystery  o'  luve? 


262 


JAMIE 


The  Glen  hes  thocht  me  an  auld  cankered  bachelor, 
an'  a've  seen  a  lass  leave  her  lad's, side  on  the  sicht  o' 
me.    Little  they  kent !  " 

No  man  knew  better  than  the  minister  when  to  be 
quiet,  and  the  ticking  of  Jamie's  big  silver  watch  was 
heard  throughout  the  kitchen. 

"  Doctor  Davidson,  ye 've  been  an  honest  man  in 
the  pulpit  an'  oot  o't  a'  thae  years,  an'  yir  warks 
hev  aye  gane  afore  yir  words.  A'll  tell  ye  ma  secret 
afore  a'  dee  ;  ou  ay,  a'  ken  a'm  deein',  an'  a'm  rael 
pleased. 

"  Ye  'ill  no  mind  that  forty-five  year  syne  a'  workit 
a  hale  winter  near  Kildrummie,  gaein'  and  comin' 
nicht  an'  mornin'. 

"  A'  met  ...  a  lassie  there,  an'  a'  cam  tae  luve  her 
aince  an'  for  ever.  No  that  a'  wud  hae  spoken  tae  her 
for  a've  been  an  ill-made,  ill-tempered,  thrawn  body 
a'  ma  days,  an'  she  .  .  .  she  wes  as  gude  as  Marget 
Hoo,  though  different.    What  mair  can  man  say? 

"The  day  ma  wark  wes  dune  a'  said  gude-bye  tae 
her,  an'  that  micht  hae  been  the  end,  but  a'  turned 
sudden,  an'  a'  saw  the  luke  on  her  face. 

"  She  cud  hae  taen  her  pick  o'  a'  the  lads  roond 
Kildrummie,  but  nae  man  can  lay  doon  the  law  tae 
luve ;  she  .  .  .  tuke  me,  that  hed  naething  but  a 
faithfu'  hert,  an'  we  gied  oor  word  ane  tae  the  ither 
for  life  .  .  .  an'  deith,  as  a  man  an'  wumman  sud 
aifter  Christ's  comin'. 

"We  cudna  be  mairrit  till  the  summer,  an'  we 
agreed  tae  write  nae  letters  tae  set  the  fouks'  tongues 
gaein' ;  we  wantit  tae  hae  oor  ain  secret. 


A  CYNIC'S  END 


263 


"  So  we  trysted  tae  meet  aince  a  week  at  a  stile  in 
the  woods  atween  here  an'  Kildrummie,  an'  we  hed 
.  .  .  seeven  evenings  thegither ;  that  wes  a'  we  ever 
saw  o'  ane  anither  in  this  warld. 

"  It  wes  the  month  o'  May  in  an  early  spring  that 
year,  and  the  leaves  were  oot  in  their  bonnie  first 
green,  an'  the  birds  were  busy  wi'  their  nests,  an'  the 
lambs  were  still  wi'  their  mithers  in  the  field.  A' 
nature  wes  glad  wi  '  us,  an'  blessed  oor  luve. 

"The  gate  hes  fa'en  tae  pieces  lang  syne,  and  the 
gap 's  built  up  wi'  a  dyke,  an'  the  trees  are  cut  doon 
an'  the  hawthorn  rooted  up,  but  it 's  .  .  .  the  same 
place  tae  me. 

"  A'  can  see  the  tree  where  we  sat,  an'  the  prim- 
roses at  oor  feet,  an'  the  sun  shinin'  on  her  face,  an' 
the  look  in  her  eyes  ;  a'  see  her  wavin'  her  hand  tae 
me  on  the  road  aifter  we  pairted,  an'  the  glint  o'  her 
goon  through  the  firs  the  last  nicht. 

"  When  a'  cam  the  next  day  she  wesna  there,  an' 
a'  hoddit  amang  the  trees  for  a  ploy,  but  it  wes  lang 
waitin',  for  she  didna  come,  an'  a'  gied  hame  wi'  fear 
in  ma  hert. 

"  It  micht  be  that  she  cudna  get  awa',  a'  said  tae 
masel  as  a'  worked  at  a  dyke,  but  the  dread  wes 
hangin'  ower  me,  an'  when  there  wes  naebody  at  the 
stile  the  next  nicht,  a'  cud  bide  nae  langer. 

"  A'  set  afY  tae  her  hoose,  and  ilka  turn  o'  the  road 
a'  lookit  for  Menie.  Aince  ma  hert  loupit  in  ma 
briest  like  a  birdie  in  its  cage,  for  a  wumman  cam 
along  the  near  road  frae  Kildrummie,  but  it  wesna 
Menie. 


264 


JAMIE 


"  When  a'  saw  her  brither  wi'  his  face  tae  Drum- 
tochty  a'  kent,  afore  he  said  a  word,  that  he  wes 
seekin'  me,  an'  that  Menie  wes  dead.  Never  a  tear 
cam  that  day  tae  ma  een,  an'  he  telt  me,  stannin'  in 
the  middle  o'  the  road  where  it  begins  tae  gae  doon 
the  hill. 

"  '  It  wes  her  throat,  an'  the  doctor  wes  feared  frae 
the  first  day;  the  nicht  she  didna  come  she  wes 
carried  (delirious);  she  .  .  .  said  "Jamie,  Jamie," 
ower  an'  ower  again,  an'  wanted  tae  rise. 

"'Aboot  daybreak  she  cam  tae  hersel,  and  knew 
oor  faces.  "  A'm  deein',"  she  said,  "  an'  a'  didna 
keep  ma  tryst  last  nicht.  It 's  ower  late  noo,  an'  a'll 
no  see  him  on  earth  again. 

"  '  "  Tell  James  Soutar  that  it  wesna  ma  blame  a' 
failed,  an'  gie  him  ma  Bible,"  an'  a  while  aifter  she 
said,  "A'll  keep  the  tryst  wi'  him  some  day,"  an' 
.  .  .  that's  a'. ' 

"  Her  brither  gied  me  the  book  an'  waited,  ex- 
peckin'  me  tae  say  somethin',  but  a'  hed  nae  words, 
an'  he  left  me  on  the  road,  coontin'  me  hard  o'  hert; 
a'  wes  a'  that  nicht  ...  at  the  stile. 

"  Doctor,  wull  ye  obleege  me  by  gaein'  tae  that 
cupboard  and  bringin'  me  ma  Sabbath  hat?  " 

Jamie  took  off  the  ring  of  crape,  thin  and  faded 
with  the  years,  and  held  it  for  a  moment  in  his 
hand. 

"  Pit  it  in  the  fire,  Doctor,  whar  a'  can  see  it 
burn ;  a've  worn  it  forty-four  years  laist  spring,  but 
a'll  no  need  it  again,  for  a'm  gaein'  oot  o'  mournin' 
sune. 


A  CYNIC'S  END 


267 


"  Here 's  her  Bible,"  and  Jamie  brought  it  from  a 
shelf  in  his  box  bed;  "  gin  ye  come  tae  ma  chestin' 
(coffining),  wull  ye  see  it  be  pit  in?  There's 
naethin'  else  a'  want  tae  cairry  wi'  me  tae  the  ither 
side,  an'  .  .  .  a'll  juist  bid  ye  gude-bye,  Doctor; 
ye  're  an  honest  man  ootside  an'  in." 

"  Would  you  like  .  .  ."  said  the  doctor,  evidently 
moved. 

"  A'  wud  be  obleeged,"  and  Jamie  took  off  his 
night-cap. 

Doctor  Davidson  prayed : 

"  Heavenly  Father,  who  only  art  the  source  of  love 
and  the  giver  of  every  good  gift,  we  thank  Thee  for 
the  love  wherewith  the  soul  of  Thy  servant  clave  unto 
this  woman  as  Jacob  unto  Rachel,  which  many  years 
have  not  quenched.  Remember  the  faithfulness  of 
this  true  heart,  and  disappoint  not  its  expectation. 
May  the  tryst  that  was  broken  on  earth  be  kept  in 
heaven,  and  be  pleased  to  give  Thy  .  .  .  give  Jamie 
a  good  home-coming.  Amen." 

"  Thank  ye,  Doctor;  ye 've  said  what  I  wantit,  an' 
...  it  wes  kind  o'  ye  tae  pit  in  Jamie,"  and  his  hand 
came  out  from  the  bed  for  a  last  grasp.  He  watched 
the  minister  go,  and  when  Elspeth  returned  he  said, 
"  Yon's  a  richt  man." 

The  upland  children  returning  home  from  school 
in  the  afternoon  came  to  the  cottage  door,  and  Jamie, 
who  had  been  dozing,  heard  their  whispering. 

"  There 's  some  o'  thae  prodigals  oot  there  in  the 
gairden ;  bring  them  in,  Elspeth,  or  a'  give  them  a 
hearin' ;  they  Ve  juist  been  the  torment  o'  ma  life." 


268 


JAMIE 


They  came  in  warily,  as  those  who  had  some 
experience  of  former  tricks,  but  there  was  no  fear 
even  among  the  girls.  Had  it  not  been  known  how 
Jamie  detested  children,  you  would  have  imagined 
that  he  had  been  their  playmate. 


CHILDREN  AT  THE  COTTAGE  DOOR 


"  The  warst  laddie  o'  the  lot,"  and  Jamie  seemed  to 
be  speaking  to  the  ceiling  of  his  bed,  "  is  Tammie 
Baxter.  It's  maist  aggravatin'  that  he  sud  leave  a 
lairge  paper  kite  in  a  sick  body's  bed,  an'  me  wantin' 
tae  turn  roond." 

The  kite  projected  itself  forward  from  dark  recesses 
in  all  its  glory  of  many  and  very  loud  colours. 

"  It's  rael  bonnie,"  was  all  that  Tammie  offered  by 


A  CYNIC'S  END 


269 


way  of  thanks,  as  he  took  possession  of  his  prize  amid 
general  envy. 

"  A'  wudna  say  but  there  micht  be  sugar-candy  in 
the  cupboard,"  continued  Jamie  in  a  soliloquy,  and 
a  rush  for  the  door  was  stayed. 

"  Annie  Mitchell  'ill  divide  it  fair,  an'  a'm  expeckin' 
a  kiss." 

"  Are  ye  near  weel?"  she  said,  when  the  debt  was 
paid  after  a  generous  fashion.  "  Mither  wants  tae  ken." 

"  Tell  her  a'm  juist  gettin'  on  fine,  an'  a'll  be  a'  richt 
in  twa  or  three  days." 

Elspeth  reported  the  proceedings  with  the  kite,  and 
Jamie  was  full  of  anxiety. 

"  Tell  Tammie  tae  pit  on  a  heavier  clod  and  keep 
tuggin',  "  till  a  shout  came  in  through  the  door. 

"It's  near  oot  o'  sicht,"  and  then  Jamie  was  at 
peace. 

"Bairns  are  an  awfu'  trachle  (trouble),"  he  moral- 
ised; "  a'  canna  mak  oot  hoo  fouk  pit  up  wi'  them; 
that  lassie  Mitchell  is  juist  a  hempie." 

Next  morning  Jamie  declined  conversation,  and 
lay  to  all  appearance  unconscious,  so  that  when  the 
Free  Kirk  minister  came,  between  whom  and  Jamie 
there  had  been  a  special  friendship  since  the  day 
Carmichael  had  declared  his  conviction  on  Posty's 
future  state,  Elspeth  led  him  in  on  tiptoe  and  spoke 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Ou  aye,  a'  kent  ye  wud  be  concerned,  for  you  an' 
he  were  chief  (friendly);  he's  been  this  wy  a'  day, 
naither  better  nor  worse  ;  juist  leevin',  that 's  a' ;  he  'ill 
never  speak  again." 


270 


JAMIE 


"  I  have  been  at  the  Glasgow  sacrament,"  and 
Carmichael  went  over  to  the  fire-place ;  "  else  I  would 
have  come  up  before.  Jamie  has  always  been  very 
kind  to  me.  It 's  sad  to  see  him  lying  there  speechless, 
who  had  the  cleverest  tongue  in  the  Glen." 

"  Ay,  ay,  he  's  past  speech  noo ;  he  hears  naething." 

"Wes't  a  vawcancy  ye  were  preachin'  in,"  a  loud, 
clear  voice  proceeded  from  the  bed,  "  or  juist  helpin' 
a  freend?  " 

"  Preserve  's  a'  body  an'  soul,"  cried  Elspeth  ;  and 
Carmichael  himself  was  shaken. 

"We  thought  you  were  unconscious,  Jamie ;  I'm 
glad  you  can  still  take  an  interest  in  things." 

"  There 's  been  a  gey  lot  o'  havers  (nonsense)  gaein' 
in  this  hoose  the  laist  twal  'oors,  but  a'  didna  let  on ; 
na,  na,  a'  enjoyed  it." 

Kirsty  Stewart  came  to  share  the  night  watch  with 
Elspeth,  but  neither  presumed  till  nearly  daybreak, 
when  Kirsty  declared,  with  the  just  weight  of  her 
medical  authority,  that  all  was  over. 

"  He  hes  the  look,  an'  his  hands  are  as  cold  as  ice ; 
feel  his  feet,  wumman." 

"  A'  canna  find  them,"  said  Elspeth,  making  timid 
explorations. 

"  They  used  tae  be  on  the  end  o'  ma  legs,"  remarked 
Jamie,  as  if  uncertain  where  they  might  now  be 
placed. 

Elspeth  started  back  and  looked  at  him,  but  his 
eyes  were  closed,  and  he  gave  no  other  sign  of 
consciousness. 

"A'll  no  meddle  wi'  him  again,"  said  Elspeth, 


A  CYNIC'S  END 


271 


solemnly,  "  though  a'  sit  here  for  a  week ;  he's  a 
queer  body,  Jamie ;  he  gied  his  ain  wy  a'  his  life,  an' 
tak  ma  word  for 't,  Kirsty,  he  'ill  hae  his  ain  wy  o' 
deein'." 

When  the  first  ray  shot  through  the  window  and 
trembled  on  the  bed,  Jamie  raised  himself  and  listened. 
He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  as  if  he  were 
watching  for  some  one  and  could  not  see  clearly  for 
excess  of  light. 

"  Menie,"  he  cried  suddenly,  with  a  new  voice, 
"  a've  keepit  oor  tryst." 

When  they  laid  him  in  the  coffin  —  the  Bible  in 
his  hands  —  the  smile  was  still  on  his  face,  and  he 
appeared  a  man  some  forty  years  of  age. 


SERVANT  LASS 


I 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT 

Mary  Robertson's  brave  fight  to  bring  up  her 
orphaned  grandchildren  had  won  her  the  silent 
respect  of  the  Glen,  and  when  it  was  reported  that 
Lily  had  obtained  a  place  in  London,  and  would 
leave  in  three  weeks,  the  fathers  gave  themselves  to 
the  incident  on  all  its  sides. 

"  Nae  wumman  in  the  pairish  hes  dune  her  duty 
better  than  Mary,"  said  Drumsheugh,with  authority. 
"She's  been  an  example  tae  every  man  o's.  It's 
auchteen  year  laist  Martinmas  sin'  herdochter's  man 
ran  aff  and  his  puir  wife  came  hame  tae  dee,  leavin' 
her  mother  wi'  the  chairge  o'  sax  young  bairns. 

Ye  canna  dae  't  wTithoot  help,  Mary,'  says  I  tae 
her:  'ye  'ill  need  a  bit  allooance  frae  the  pairish,  an' 
a' 11  get  it  for  ye  next  Boord.  A  shilling  a  week  ilka 
bairn  'ill  gang  a  lang  wy  in  yir  hands. ' 

"  '  Thank  ye,  Drumsheugh. '  She  wes  standing  at 
her  gate,  and  drew  herself  up  straicht.  'An'  a'  the 
neeburs  hev  been  freendly ;  but  there's  never  been 
ane  o*  ma  bluid  on  the  pairish,  an'  there  never  wull 
be  sae  lang  as  the  Almichty  leaves  me  ma  reason 
and  twa  airms. 


2j6 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


" '  Mary  had  a  puir  life  o't,  an'  she  deed  o'  the 
disgrace  her  man  pit  on  her.  "A'm  gaein'  awa'," 
she  said  tae  me,  "an'  a've  juist  ae  thing  tae  ask, 
mither;  dinna  lat  the  bairns  gae  on  the  pairish; 
bring  them  up  tae  wark  and  tae  respeck  themsels. " 
A'  gied  her  ma  word,  an'  a' 11  keep  it.'  She  lookit 
graund,  fouks,"  wound  up  Drumsheugh. 

"She's  rael  Drumtochty,  is  Mary,"  remarked 
Jamie  Soutar;  "for  doonricht  pride  an'  thraunness 
ye  'ill  no  get  their  marra  in  Scotland.  What  for 
did  she  no  tak  the  allooance?  She  wud  hae  been  a 
gude  few  notes  the  better  a'  thae  years:  mony  an' 
oor's  wark  she  micht  hae  spared  hersel. 

"  Noo  gin  Mary  hed  been  a  wumman  wi'  a  proper 
speerit  o'  humility  and  kent  her  place,  she  wud  hae 
gruppit  a'  she  cud  get,  and  beggit  frae  the  neeburs, 
an'  gotten  on  better  than  ever.  But  if  she  didna  sit 
up  at  nicht  makin'  the  bairns'  claithes,  and  wark  in 
the  fields  a'  day  tae  earn  their  schilling,  an'  a'  tae 
keep  her  independence,  as  they  ca't.  A've  seen 
Mary  come  intae  kirk  wi'  the  sax  bairns  afore  her, 
an'  she  cudna  hae  cairried  her  head  higher  hed  she 
been  the  Coontess  o'  Kilspindie. 

"A'm  judgin'  this  kind  o'  speerit  's  in  the  verra 
air  o'  the  Glen,  for  there 's  juist  twa  auld  weemen 
on  the  pairish  ;  ane  o'  them 's  blind,  the  ither 's  had 
a  stroke;  naither  o'  them  hes  a  freend,  an'  baith  o' 
them  murn  every  day  they  canna  wark." 

"Mary's  an  able  wumman,"  broke  in  Hillocks, 
who  was  much  given  to  practical  detail;  "a've  seen 
her  hens  layin'  in  the  dead  o'  winter,  and  she  hed  a 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT  277 


coo,  a'  mind,  'at  gied  half  as  muckle  milk  again  as 
ony  coo  in  oor  toon.  As  for  plannin',  she  got  ma 
Sunday  blacks  when  they  were  gey  far  through  wi't, 
an'  gin  she  didna  juist  mak  a  jacket  for  Chairlie  'at 
did  him  for  ten  year;  a'm  dootin'  she  hes  tae  pay 
for  him  yet:  he 's  no  the  help  he  micht  hae  been  as 
far  as  a'  can  mak  oot ;  eh,  Drumsheugh?  " 


WORKING  IN  THE  FIELDS 

"Gin  it  wesna  for  him  daein'  naethin'  and  livin' 
on  his  faimily,  Hillocks,  Lily  micht  stay  wi'  her 
grannie,  an'  keep  Mary  comfortable  in  her  auld  age. 
But  they  aye  cover  him,  baith  his  grannie  and  his 
sister,  till  ye  wud  think  there  wes  never  a  better- 
daein'  lad  gied  oot  0'  the  Glen.  Whatever  they  say 
among  themsels,  they  'ill  no  say  a  word  ootside. " 

What  they  did  say  in  Mary  Robertson's  cottage 
that  evening  was  sad  enough. 


278 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


"Weel,  weel,  lassie,  there  wes  sax  tae  begin  wi', 
an'  twa  died  o'  the  dipthery,  —  eh,  but  Dr.  Maclure 
wes  kind  that  time,  —  and  twa  mairried  and  gied 
awa',  an'  Chairlie  ...  in  Ameriky,  an'  there 's 
juist  yersel  left,  and  I  wes  trustin'  ye  wud  stay  wi' 
yir  auld  grannie  an'  close  her  een." 


MARY  ROBERTSON'S  COTTAGE 


"Dinna  speak  that  foolish  wy,  grannie,"  but 
Lily's  voice  had  a  break  in  it.  "Ye 're  lookin' 
fresher  than  mony  a  young  wumman,  an'  ye  ken 
a'm  tae  get  hame  at  a  time,  maybe  ilka  three  year." 

"It's  a  lang  road,  Lily,  tae  Lunnon,  an'  ill  tae 
traivel;  a'  may  be  dead  and  buried  afore  ye  come 
back,  an'  a' 11  be  terrible  lonely,  juist  like  a  bird 
when  the  young  anes  are  ta'en  awa'." 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT  279 


"Gin  ye  say  anither  word  a'  11  fling  up  ma  place, 
an'  never  gang  intae  service  ava;  it's  no  ma  wush 
tae  leave  the  Glen  an'  gang  sae  far  frae  hame.  But 
we  maun  py  the  man  in  Muirtown  what  Chairlie 
borrowed,  else  oor  name  'ill  be  disgraced." 

"  It 's  disgraced  eneuch  already  with  sic  a  useless 
fellow;  he's  his  faither  ower  again  —  a  fair  face, 
a  weel-dressed  back,  a  cunning  tongue,  an'  a  fause 
hert.  There's  no  a  drop  o'  Robertson  bluid  in 
him,  lassie;  there's  times  a'  wish  he  wras  dead," 
and  Mary's  voice  trembled  with  passion. 

"Wisht,  wisht,  grannie;  he's  mither's  only  son, 
an'  she  wes  prood  o'  him,  a've  heard  ye  say,  an'  he 
'ill  maybe  mend;  div  ye  ken  a'  wes  juist  imaginin' 
that  he  set  tae  work  and  githered  a  lot  o'  siller,  an' 
paid  back  a'  ye  hae  dune  for  him. 

"  Ye  'ill  no  be  angry,  but  a'  telt  Marget  Hoo  ae 
day  aboot  oor  tribble  an'  ma  houp  o'  Chairlie  —  for 
ye  canna  look  at  Marget  an'  no  want  tae  unburden 
yersel  —  an'  she  said,  4  Dinna  be  ashamed  o'  yir 
dreams,  Lily;  they 'ill  a'  come  true  some  day,  for 
we  canna  think  better  than  God  wull  dae. '  " 

"Marget  Hoo  is  nearer  the  hert  o'  things  than 
onybody  in  the  Glen,  an'  a'm  prayin'  she  may  be 
richt.  Get  the  bukes;  it's  time  for  oor  readin'." 
And  Mary  asked  that  "the  hert  o'  him  that  wes 
far  awa'  micht  be  turned  tae  gudeness,  an'  that  he 
micht  be  a  kind  brother  to  his  sister." 

No  girl  had  gone  to  service  in  London  before,  and 
the  Glen  took  a  general  interest  in  Lily's  outfit. 
The  wricht  made  her  kist  of  sound,  well-seasoned 


28o  A  SERVANT  LASS 


wood,  and  the  Glen,  looking  in  from  time  to  time, 
highly  approved  of  its  strength  and  security.  Sandie 
was  particularly  proud  of  an  inner  compartment 
which  he  had  contrived  with  much  ingenuity,  and 
which  was  secured  by  a  padlock  whose  key  defied 
imitation. 

"  Noo,  you  see,  if  ony  ill-conditioned  wratch  got 
intae  the  kist,  he  micht  get  a  goon  or  a  jaicket,  but 
he  wudna  be  able  tae  titch  her  siller.  Na,  na,  what 
she  wins  she  keeps;  ma  certes,  that  boxie  'ill  beat 
them." 

"  Ye  ken  what  ye  're  aboot,  wricht, "  said  Hillocks, 
who  felt  that  one  going  to  distant  parts  could  hardly 
take  too  many  precautions,  "an'  ye 've  turned  oot  a 
wise-like  kist;  sail,  Lily  'ill  dae  weel  gin  she  fill 
it." 

Concerning  the  filling  long  and  anxious  consulta- 
tions were  held  in  Mary's  kitchen,  and  Elspeth 
Macfadyen  was  called  in  as  a  specialist,  because  she 
had  been  once  in  service  herself,  and  because  her 
sister  was  cook  in  the  house  of  the  Provost  of 
Muirtown. 

"We  maunna  gang  a  saxpence  intae  debt,"  and 
Mary  laid  down  preliminary  conditions,  "an'  a'thing 
sud  be  genuine,  in  an'  oot  —  nae  show  on  the  back 
and  poverty  ablow;  that's  puir  cleidin'  (clothing) 
for  Christian  fouk. 

"Lily's  savit  aucht  pund  at  the  Lodge,  an'  a' 
can  spare  twa  or  three.  How  mony  dresses  an'  sic- 
like  'ill  she  need  tae  begin  respectable,  for  the 
hoose  an'  the  kirk?" 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT  283 


"  Lily  'ill  need  twa  prints  for  certain,  an'  ae  black 
dress  for  the  hoose,  an'  anither  dress  for  gaein'  oot 
tae  kirk  or  tae  see  her  freends.  She  wud  be  better 
o'  a  third  print  an'  a  second  ootside  goon  — ■  for  a 
bit  change,  ye  ken.  Then  she  maun  hae  a  bonnet 
for  Sabbath  an'  a  hat  tae  gae  oot  a  message  in  forby. 
The  ither  things  she  'ill  hae  already,"  for  Elspeth 
had  been  going  over  the  matter  carefully  for  weeks; 
"ye  'ill  be  getting  her  things  at  Muirtown,  an'  a' 11 
be  gled  to  gie  ye  ony  help  in  ma  poor." 

Three  hours  did  they  spend  next  Friday  in  the 
Muirtown  shop,  examining,  selecting,  calculating, 
till  Lily's  humble  outfit  was  complete  and  Elspeth's 
full  list  overtaken,  save  the  third  print  and  a  merino 
gown  on  which  Mary  had  set  her  heart. 

"We  haena  the  means,"  and  Mary  went  over  the 
figures  again  on  her  fingers,  "an'  sae  ye  maun  juist 
wait.  Gin  the  price  o'  butter  keeps  up,  ye  'ill  hae 
them  afore  the  New  Year,  an'  a' 11  send  them  up 
in  a  bit  parcel.  .  .  .  Havers,  what  sud  a'  stairve 
masel  for?  nae  fear  o'  that;  but  keep's  a',  what's 
Drumsheugh  aifter  here?" 

"Hoo  are  ye  a'  the  day?"  said  the  great  man, 
fresh  from  a  victory  over  a  horse-dealer,  in  which  he 
had  wrested  a  price  beyond  the  highest  expectation 
of  Drumtochty ;  "can  ye  gie  me  a  hand  wi'  twa  or 
three  bit  trokes,  Elspeth?  "  and  the  two  disappeared 
into  the  recesses  of  the  shop. 

"A'  heard  ye  were  here,  an'  a'  wes  wonderin'  hoo 
the  siller  wes  haudin'  oot;  naebody  daur  offer  half- 
a-croon  tae  Mary;   but  she   michtna  mind  Lily 


284 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


gettin'  a  bit  present  frae  a  neebur,  juist  tae  hansel 
her  new  kist,  ye  ken,"  and  Drumsheugh  pressed  two 
notes  into  Elspeth's  hands,  and  escaped  from  the 
strange  place  by  a  side  door.  When  the  parcel  was 
opened  that  evening,  for  the  joy  of  going  over  its 
contents,  Mary  turned  on  Elspeth  in  fierce  wrath. 

"What  did  ye  dae  this  for,  Elspeth  Macfadyen? 
an'  behind  ma  back.  Ye  ken  a'  didna  pay  for  thae 
twa,  and  that  a' 11  no  tak  an  ounce  o'  tea  let  alane 
twa  goons  withoot  payment.  Pit  the  goons  up, 
Lily,  an'  a' 11  gie  them  back  the  mornin',  though  a' 
hae  tae  walk  the  hale  twal  mile  tae  Muirtown. " 

"Dinna  be  sae  hysty,  Mary."  Elspeth  was  pro- 
vokingly  calm.  "  Ye  needna  be  feared  that  Drums- 
heugh uidna  pay  for  his  order,  and  if  he  wanted  tae 
gie  the  lassie  a  fairin',  a'  see  nae  use  in  flinging  it 
back  in  his  face ;  but  ye  maunna  lat  on  tae  himsel 
for  the  warld,  or  tell  a  livin'  soul." 

When  Lily's  box  was  packed  on  Thursday  even- 
ing, her  grandmother  would  have  slipped  in  all  the 
household  treasures  that  could  be  introduced  between 
layers  of  soft  goods,  and  sent  the  eight -day  clock  had 
it  been  a  suitable  equipment  for  a  young  woman  en- 
tering service  in  London.  The  box  was  taken  down 
to  Kildrummie  station  in  one  of  Drumsheugh's  carts, 
padded  round  with  straw  lest  the  paint  be  scratched, 
but  Hillocks  came  with  his  dogcart  and  drove  Lily 
down  in  state,  carrying  in  her  right  hand  a  bunch 
of  flowers  from  Jamie  Soutar's  garden,  and  in  the 
other  a  basket  containing  a  comb  of  honey  left  by 
Posty,  without  remark,  a  dozen  eggs  from  Burnbrae, 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT  285 


and  two  pounds  of  perfect  butter  from  Mary's  hand. 
These  were  intended  as  a  friendly  offering  from  the 
Glen  to  Lily's  new  household  that  she  might  not 
appear  empty-handed,  but  the  peppermints  that 
filled  her  pocket  were  for  herself,  and  the  white 
milk  scones  on  the  top  of  the  bag,  with  a  bottle  of 


KILDRUMMIE  STATION 


milk,  were  to  sustain  Lily  on  the  long  journey. 
Mary  shook  hands  with  Lily  twice,  once  at  the 
cottage  door  and  again  after  she  had  taken  her  place 
beside  Hillocks,  but  Mary  did  not  kiss  Lily,  for 
whom  she  would  have  died,  and  whom  she  did  not 
expect  to  see  again  in  this  life;  nor  were  their 
farewell  words  affecting. 

"  See  that  ye  hae  yir  box  richt  libelled,  Lily,  an' 


286 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


ye  'ill  need  tae  watch  it  at  the  junctions;  keep  the 
basket  wi'  the  eggs  in  yir  hands,  for  fear  somebody 
sits  on 't;  an',  Lily,  wumman,  for  ony  sake  haud  yir 
goon  aff  the  wheel  when  ye're  gettin'  doon  at 
Kildrummie.    Is  't  comin'  tae  a  shoor,  Hillocks?" 

"A'  wudna  say  but  there  micht  be  a  scowie  afore 
nicht;  it  'ill  freshen  the  neeps  fine."  And  so  Lily 
departed. 

But  Mary  went  to  a  knowe  that  commanded  the 
road,  and  watched  Hillocks's  dogcart  cross  Tochty 
bridge  and  go  up  the  other  side  till  it  disappeared 
into  the  dark  fir  woods  on  the  ridge.  Then  she 
went  back  to  the  kitchen,  where  everything  spoke 
of  her  girl,  and  sat  down  by  the  lonely  fireside  and 
wept. 

It  was  a  curious  coincidence  that  Jamie  Soutar 
had  some  "troke"  in  Muirtown  that  day,  and  trav- 
elled in  the  same  carriage  with  Lily,  beguiling  her 
from  sorrow  with  quaint  stories  and  indirect  shrewd 
advice.  As  he  was  rather  early  for  his  business, 
he  had  nothing  better  to  do  than  see  Lily  off  by  the 
London  express,  adding  to  her  commissariat  a  pack- 
age of  sweets  from  the  refreshment  room,  and  an 
illustrated  paper  from  the  bookstall.  He  shambled 
along  beside  her  carriage  to  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
platform,  and  the  last  thing  Lily  Grant  saw  as  she 
went  forth  into  a  strange  land  was  Jamie  waving  his 
hand.  It  showed  that  the  old  man's  memory  was 
beginning  to  fail  that,  instead  of  going  down  to  the 
town,  he  went  back  by  the  midday  train  to  Kil- 
drummie, giving  Mary  a  cry  in  the  evening,  and 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT  287 


assuring  her  that  Lily  was  so  far  on  her  journey  in 
"graund  hert. " 

It  was  covenanted  between  them  that  Lily  should 
send  Mary  a  "scrape  o'  the  pen  "  on  arrival  —  as  an 
assurance  that  she  was  safe,  and  the  eggs,  —  and 
should  write  in  a  while  at  full  length,  when  she 
had  settled  down  to  her  work  and  found  a  kirk. 
The  Glen  waited  for  this  letter  with  expectation, 
and  regarded  it  as  common  property,  so  that  when 
Posty  delivered  it  to  Mary  he  sat  down  without 
invitation,  and  indicated  that  he  was  ready  to  receive 
any  titbits  she  might  offer  for  his  use. 

"Lily's  keepin'  her  health,  but  she's  no  awfu' 
ta'en  up  wi'  the  climate  o'  London;  wud  ye  believe 
it,  they  hae  the  gas  lichtit  by  two  o'clock  in  the 
aifternoon,  an'  the  fog's  eneuch  tae  smoorye;  it's 
no  veecious  cauld  though." 

"There's  waur  things  than  cauld,"  said  Posty, 
who  had  started  that  morning  in  twenty  degrees  of 
frost ;  "  is  she  wearyin'  ?  " 

"Whiles  a'm  dootin',  puir  lassie;  when  she  hes 
half  an  'oor  tae  hersel,  she  gaes  up  tae  her  room 
and  taks  oot  a  pokie  (bag)  o'  rose  leaves  we  dried 
in  the  simmer.  The  smell  o'  them  brings  up  oor 
bit  gairden  and  me  stannin',  as  plain  as  day,  at  the 
door.  Fouk  tak  notions,  a've  heard,  when  they're 
far  frae  hame,"  added  Mary,  by  way  of  apology. 

"Ay,  ay,"  and  Posty  looked  steadily  from  him. 

"  It  's  eatin'  an'  drinkin'  frae  mornin'  till  nicht, 
Lily  says;  an'  the  verra  servants  hae  meat  three 
times  a  day,   wi'  beer  tae  their  dinner.    An'  the 


288 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


wyste  cowes  a' ;  she  says  Elspeth  Macfadyen  wud 
get  her  livin'  frae  amang  their  feet." 

"A'  dinna  think  muckle  o'  beer,"  observed  Posty; 
"there 's  nae  fusion  in  't;  naither  heat  for  the  stam- 
ach  nor  shairpness  for  the  intelleck. " 

"A  set  o'  extravagant  hizzies, "  continued  Mary; 
"fur  on  their  jaickets,  like  leddies,  an'  no  a  penny 
in  the  bank.  The  meenut  they  get  their  wages,  aff 
tae  spend  them  on  finery.  Ane  o'  them  borrowed 
five  shillings  frae  Lily  tae  get  her  boots  soled." 

"  Lord's  sake,  that 's  no  cannie, "  and  Posty  awoke 
to  the  dangers  that  beset  a  young  girl's  path  in  the 
great  Babylon;  "tell  Lily,  whatever  she  dis,  tae 
keep  her  haud  o'  her  siller." 

"Ye 're  richt  there,  Posty.  Lily's  juist  ower 
saft -hearted,  and  she  hes  a  gey  lot  o'  trimmies  tae 
deal  wi'.  Wud  ye  credit  it,  ilka  ane  o'  them  hes 
'  Miss  '  on  her  letters,  an'  gin  freends  come  tae  see 
them  they  maun  ask  for  Miss  this  an'  that;  a'  pit 
'  Lily  Grant,  Hoosemaid, '  on  ma  letters." 

"Ye 're  wrang  there,  Mary,"  interrupted  Posty; 
"what  for  sud  ye  ca'  doon  yir  ain,  an'  her  sic  a  fine 
lassie?  Ma  opeenion  is  that  a  Drumtochty  wumman 
hes  as  gude  a  richt  tae  Miss  as  her  neeburs.  Sail, 
gin  a'  catch  ye  sendin'  aff  anither  '  Lily,'  a'll  whup 
in  the  Miss  masel ;  but  is  there  nae  word  aboot  the 
kirks?"  for  Posty  felt  that  these  trifling  details 
were  keeping  them  from  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

"A'm  comin'  tae  that,  an'  it's  worth  hearin', 
for  the  ignorance  o'  thae  London  fouk  is  by  ordinar. 
When  she  askit  the  near  road  tae  the  kirk,  nae- 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT 


289 


body  in  the  hoose  cud  tell  her  whether  it  wes  east  or 
wast." 

Posty  wagged  his  head  in  pity. 

"  So  she  gied  oot  and  fell  in  wi'  a  polisman,  an* 
as  luck  wud  hae  it,  he  wes  a  Scotchman.  1  Come 
awa',  lassie, '  he  said ;  *  a'  see  whar  ye 're  frae ;  it 's  a 
mercy  ye  didna  fa'  intae  the  hands  o'  some  of  ma 
neeburs;  they  micht  hae  sent  ye  aff  tae  the  Metho- 
dies,  an'  they  wud  hae  gien  ye  a  fricht  wi'  cryin' 
Hallelujah. '  " 

"  A  graund  body  for  a'  that,"  interpolated  Posty, 
"  but  clean  astray  on  the  decrees." 

" '  Yonder 's  the  place,'  says  he,  1  an'  ye  pit  yir 
collection  in  a  plate  at  the  door — there's  nae  ladles 
—  but  there's  a  couthie  wumman  keeps  the  door  in 
the  gallery,  an'  she  'ill  gie  ye  a  seat.' 

"  She  kent  it  wes  her  ain  place  when  she  saw  a 
properly  ordained  minister  in  the  pulpit,  wi'  his 
black  goon  and  bonnie  white  bands ;  and  when 
they  started  the  Hundredth  Psalm,  her  heart  cam 
intae  her  mooth,  an'  she  cudna  sing  a  word." 

"  Wes  there  an  organ?"  demanded  Posty,  with 
the  manner  of  one  who  has  a  duty  to  perform,  and 
must  be  on  his  guard  against  sentiment. 

"  A'll  no  tell  ye  a  lee,  Posty,  there  wes,  an'  of 
coorse  Lily  didna  like  it,  but  she  wes  terrible 
pleased  wi'  the  sermon.  As  for  the  organ,  it  juist 
boomilled  awa',  an'  she  never  lat  on  she  heard  it." 

"  Dis  she  gie  the  texts  an'  diveesions?"  and  Posty 
smacked  his  lips. 

"  It 's  no  likely  she  wud  forget  that,  aifter  gaein'  ower 

19 


290 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


them  ilka  Sabbath  nicht  here  sin  she  wes  a  wee  bairnie. 
'  Faith  without  works  is  dead/  James,  ye  ken/' 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  Posty,  impatiently ;  "  a  testin' 
text;  ye  cudna  hae  a  better  tae  jidge  a  man  by; 
hoo  wes 't  handled  ?  " 

"  Three  heads.  First,  '  True  religion  is  a  principle 
in  the  soul' — Posty  nodded,  '  that 's  faith.'  Second, 
*  It  is  a  practice  in  the  life  ' —  '  warks,'  murmured 
Posty.  Third,  '  Without  a  principle  in  the  soul, 
there  can't  be  a  practice  in  the  life.'  " 

"  A'  see  naethin'  wrang  there,  Mary ;  it 's  maybe 
no  verra  oreeginal,  but  that's  naither  here  nor  there; 
gin  ye  stand  on  yir  head  ye  can  aye  see  a  new  glen ; 
it  wis  soond  an'  instructive.  Did  he  titch  on  Paul 
and  James?  he  wud  be  sure  tae  be  reconcilin'  them, 
gin  he  be  ablow  forty." 

"  That 's  a'  she  writes  on  the  sermon,  but  she  gied 
intae  the  vestry  wi'  her  lines,  an*  the  minister  wes 
rael  kind  tae  her  when  he  heard  her  tongue. 

"  His  English  slippit  aff  in  a  meenut,  an'  oot  cam 
the  auld  tongue  ;  he 's  a  Perthshire  man  himsel,  though 
frae  the  sooth  end,  an'  his  wife's  second  cousin  is  mer- 
ried  tae  the  minister  o'  Kildrummie's  brother,  so  ye 
micht  say  he  wes  conneckit  wi'  Drumtochty. 

"  He  telt  her  tae  coont  him  a  freend  noo  that  she 
wes  amang  strangers,  an'  tae  send  for  him  in  tribble, 
an'  Lily  declares  that  she  gaed  back  that  mornin'  wi' 
her  heart  fu'  of  comfort  an'  gledness.  So  ye  may 
tell  the  neeburs  that  Lily 's  daein'  weel  in  London. 
She  sends  her  respects  tae  Drumsheugh,  and  ye 'ill 
say  tae  Jamie  Soutar  that  Lily  wes  askin'  for  him." 


HOW  SHE  WENT  OUT 


293 


When  Posty  departed,  Mary  read  the  last  part  of 
Lily's  letter  slowly  to  herself. 

"  The  minister's  prayer  took  in  a'  kinds  o'  fouk, 
an'  ae  peteetion,  a'  thocht,  wes  for  us,  grannie : 
'  Remember  any  one  about  whom  his  friends  are 
anxious '  —  and  he  stopped  for  half  a  meenut.  Ye 
cud  hae  heard  a  preen  (pin)  fall,  an'  a'  said  tae 
masel,  '  Chairlie.' 

"  Dinna  be  ower  cast  doon  aboot  him,  nor  gie  up 
houp ;  he 's  young  an'  thochtless,  an'  he  'ill  maybe 
tak  a  turn  sune. 

"  Ave  savit  five  pund  aff  ma  wages,  an'  am 
sendin'  't  in  a  note,  for  a'  didna  want  the  fouk  at  the 
post-office  tae  ken  oor  affairs. 

"  Noo,  gin  ye  be  writin'  Chairlie,  will  ye  slip  in  a 
pund  juist  as  a  bit  reminder  o'  his  sister,  an'  the  ither 
fower  'ill  help  tae  py  the  Muirtown  debt. 

"  Dinna  think  a'm  scrimpin'  masel  or  daein'  ony- 
tfaing  mean.  Aifter  a've  spent  sax  pund  a  year  on 
claithes  and  little  trokes,  and  three  on  ma  kirk,  a'll 
hae  aucht  ower  for  the  debt. 

"When  the  laist  penny's  paid  o'  Chairlie's  debt 
a'll  buy  the  best  black  silk  in  London  for  ye ;  an' 
gin  a'm  spared  tae  come  hame  tae  the  summer 
Sacrament,  we  'ill  gang  thegither  tae  the  table." 

"  Twa  silly  weemen,"  said  Mary  to  herself,  "  for 
he 's  juist  a  ne'er-dae-weel  .  .  .  an'  yet,  gin  he  cam 
in  noo,  a'  wud  gie  him  the  claithes  aff  ma  back,  an' 
sae  wud  Lily.  For  the  look  in  his  een  an'  the  soon' 
o'  his  voice." 


II 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME 

WHEN  Jamie  Soutar  dropped  into  the  smithy  one 
spring  evening  with  an  impracticable  padlock,  and 
mentioned  casually  that  he  was  going  to  London 
next  day,  the  assembled  neighbours  lost  power  of 
speech. 

"Did  ye  say  London,  Jamie?"  Hillocks  was 
understood  to  have  shown  great  presence  of  mind 
in  unparalleled  circumstances;  "an'  are  ye  in  yir 
senses?  " 

"  As  sune  as  ye  recover  yir  strength,  smith,"  said 
Jamie,  taking  no  notice  of  fatuous  questions,  "  a'll 
be  obleeged  gin  ye  wud  turn  the  key  in  this  lock. 
It's  a  wee  dour  tae  manage;  a'  hevna  used  ma  bag 
sin  a'  gaed  tae  the  saut  water  saxteen  year  past." 

"  Did  ye  ever  hear  the  like?  "  and  the  smith  looked 
round  the  circle  for  support,  refusing  to  treat  Jamie's 
demand  as  an  ordinary  matter  of  business. 

"  What  are  ye  glowerin'  at  me  for  as  if  a'  wes  a 
fairlie?"  and  Jamie  affected  anger;  "  hes  a  Drum- 
tochty  man  no  as  muckle  richt  tae  see  the  metropolis 
o'  the  country  as  ither  fouk,  gin  he  can  pay  his  fare 
up  an'  doon? 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  295 

"  A've  been  wantin'  tae  see  the  Tooer  o'  London, 
whar  mony  a  lord  hes  pairted  wi'  his  heid,  an'  West- 
minster Abbey^jwhar  the  michty  dead  are  lyin',  an' 
the  Hooses  o'  Parliament,  whar  they  haver  a  hale 
nicht  through,  an'  the  streets,  whar  the  soond  o' 
feet  never  ceases. 

"The  fact  is,"  and  Jamie  tasted  the  situation  to  the 
full,  "  a'm  anxious  tae  improve  ma  mind,  an'  gin  ye 
speak  me  fair  a'll  maybe  gie  the  Glen  a  lecture  in 
the  schulehoose  in  the  winter  time  wi'  a  magic- 
lantern,  ye  ken." 

The  neighbours  regarded  him  with  horror,  and, 
after  he  had  departed,  united  their  wisdom  to  solve 
the  mystery. 

"Jamie's  by  himsel  in  the  Glen,"  summed  up 
Hillocks,  "  an'  hes  a  wy  o'  his  ain.  Ma  thocht  is 
that  he  juist  took  a  notion  o'  seem'  London,  an'  noo 
that  we  Ve  contered  (opposed)  him,  Jamie  'ill  go, 
gin  it  cost  him  ten  notes." 

On  his  way  home  Jamie  gave  Mary  Robertson  a 
cry,  who  was  sitting  very  lonesome  and  sad-like 
before  her  door. 

"  Hoo  are  ye,  Mary  ?  the  smell  o'  spring's  in  the 
air,  an'  the  buds  are  burstin'  bonnie.  Ye  'ill  no  hae 
beard  that  a'm  aff  tae  London  the  morrow,  juist  for  a 
ploy,  ye  ken,  tae  see  the  wonders." 

As  Mary  only  stared  at  him,  Jamie  offered  ex- 
planations in  atonement  for  his  foolishness. 

"  Ye  see  a've  aye  hed  an  ambeetion  tae  see  the  big 
warld  that  lies  ootside  oor  bit  Glen,  for  its  far  awa' 
soon*  hes  been  often  in  ma  ear.  A've  savit  a  note  or 
twa,  an'  a'll  get  a  glimpse  afore  a'  dee." 


296 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


"It's  a  Providence,  an'  naethin'  less  than  an 
answer  tae  prayer,"  broke  in  Mary,  in  great  agitation ; 
"here  hev  I  been  murnin'  that  a  cudna  get  tae 
London  masel,  an'  that  a'  kent  naebody  there,  till  ma 
hert  wes  weary  in  ma  breist. 

"  Naethin'  is  sairer,  Jamie,  than  tae  ken  that  ane  ye 
luve  is  lyin'  ill  amang  strangers,  wi'  naebody  o'  her 
bluid  tae  speak  a  couthy  word  tae  her,  puir  lassie,  or 
gie  her  a  drink.  A'  wes  juist  seein'  her  lyin'  alane 
at  the  top  of  the  big  hoose,  an'  wushin'  she  wes  wi's 
a'  in  the  Glen." 

"  Posty  said  something  aboot  Lily  bein'  a  wee 
sober,"  Jamie  remarked,  with  much  composure,  as  if 
the  matter  had  just  come  into  his  memory;  "  an'  noo 
a'  mind  ye  expeckit  her  hame  for  a  holiday  laist 
August.  She  wudna  be  wantin'  tae  traivel  sae  far 
north,  a'm  jalousin'. " 

"Traivel!"  cried  Mary;  "naebody  cares  for  a 
long  road  gin  it  brings  us  hame;  an'  Lily  wes 
coontin'  she  would  come  up  wi'  the  Drumtochty  fouk 
on  the  first  Friday  o'  laist  August.  A'  wes  cleanin' 
up  the  place  for  a  month  tae  hae 't  snod,  but  she 
didna  come,  an'  a'm  fearin'  she  'ill  no  be  here  again ; 
a'  hed  a  feelin'  frae  the  beginnin'  a'  wud  never  see 
Lily  again. 

"  Her  letter  cam  on  a  Thursday  afternoon  when  I 
was  beginnin'  tae  air  the  sheets  for  her  bed,  an'  when 
Posty  gave  it,  I  got  a  turn.  'Lily's  no  comin',  sit 
doon,'  a'  sed. 

"  Scarlet  fever  broke  oot  amang  the  bairns  in  the 
family,  an'  she  thocht  it  her  duty  tae  stay  and  help, 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  297 


for  the  hoose  wes  fu'  o'  nurses,  an'  the  cairryin'  wes 
by  ordinar." 

"  It  wes  a  sacrifice,"  said  Jamie.  "  Lily  never 
eneuch  cared  for  hersel ;  the  wark  wud  tell  on  her, 
a'll  warrant." 

"  Ma  opeenion  is  that  she 's  never  got  the  better  o' 
that  month,  an',  Jamie,  a'  hevna  likit  her  letters  a' 
winter.  It's  little  she  says  aboot  hersel,  but  she's 
hed  a  hoast  (cough)  for  sax  months,  an'  a'gither  her 
breath 's  failin'. 

"Jamie,  a'  hevna  said  it  tae  a  livin'  soul,  but  a've 
hed  a  warnin'  no  langer  back  than  laist  nicht.  Lily 's 
deein',  an'  it  wes  London  'at  hes  killed  her. 

"  Ye  'ill  gae  tae  see  her,  Jamie ;  ye  aye  were  a 
gude  friend  tae  Lily,  an'  she  likit  ye  weel.  Write  hoo 
she  is,  an'  bring  her  back  wi'  you  gin  she  can  traiveh 
that  a'  may  see  her  again,  if  it  be  the  Lord's  wull." 

"  Dinna  be  feared  o'  that,  Mary;  a'll  no  come  back 
withoot  Lily,"  and  Jamie's  air  of  resolution  was  some 
consolation. 

Before  he  left,  Jamie  visited  a  sheltered  nook  in 
Tochty  woods,  and  when  he  inquired  for  Lily  Grant 
next  day  at  the  door  of  a  London  West-End  house, 
there  was  a  bunch  of  fresh  primroses  in  his  hand. 

"  Disna  live  here  noo,  did  ye  say?  then  what  hae 
ye  dune  wi'  Lily?  a'  maun  get  tae  the  boddom  o' 
this,"  and  Jamie  passed  into  the  hall,  the  majestic 
personage  at  the  door  having  no  strength  left  to 
resist. 

"  Tell  yir  mistress  this  meenut  that  a  freend  hes 
come  frae  Drumtochty  tae  ask  news  o'  Lily  Grant, 


298 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


an'  wull  wait  till  he  gets  them,"  and  Jamie's  person- 
ality was  so  irresistible  that  the  personage  counselled 
an  immediate  audience. 

"  Grant's  father,  I  suppose?  "  began  Lily's  mistress, 
with  suspicious  fluency.  "  No?  Ah,  then,  some 
relative,  no  doubt?  how  good  of  you  to  call,  and  so 
convenient,  too,  for  I  wanted  to  see  some  of  her 
family.  She  was  an  excellent  servant,  and  so  nice  in 
the  house;  the  others  were  quite  devoted  to  her. 
But  I  never  thought  her  strong.  Don't  you  think 
London  is  trying  to  country-girls?" 

Jamie  did  not  offer  any  opinion. 

"  One  of  the  children  caught  that  horrid  scarlet 
fever,  and  in  the  beginning  of  August,  of  all  times, 
when  we  were  going  down  to  Scotland.  Some  of 
the  servants  had  left,  and  the  child  had  to  be  nursed 
here;  there  was  lots  of  work,  and  it  fell  on  Grant. 

"She  was  going  at  that  very  time  to  her  home  — 
Drum  something  or  other;  or  was  it  Ben?  —  it's 
always  the  one  or  the  other  when  it  is  n't  Mac." 

V  Drumtochty  is  the  name  o'  Lily's  hame,  an'  her 
auld  grandmither  wes  lookin'  for  her  aifter  three 
years'  service." 

"Quite  so;  and  that's  just  what  I  said  to  her. 
'  Take  your  holiday,  Grant,  and  we  '11  worry  on  some- 
how,' but  she  would  n't  go.  We  thought  it  so  pretty 
of  her,  for  servants  are  generally  so  selfish  ;  and  she 
really  did  wonderfully,  as  much  as  three  women,  do 
you  know?  " 

"  If  it  wudna  hurry  ye,  wud  ye  tell  me  her  address 
in  London?  " 


IN  THE  TOCHTY  WOODS. 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  301 

"  Of  course ;  I 'm  coming  to  that,  but  I  felt  you 
would  like  to  hear  all  about  her,  for  we  had  a  great 
idea  of  Grant.  It  was  a  cold  it  began  with,  and  one 
day  I  heard  her  coughing,  and  told  her  she  must 
positively  see  a  doctor;  but  Grant  was  very  obstinate 
at  times,  and  she  never  went." 

"  It 's  possible  that  she  didna  ken  ane.  An'  what 
cam  o'  her  cough?  " 

"  It  was  too  dreadful,  and  they  ought  not  to  have 
taken  me  to  the  room.  I  could  not  sieep  all  night- 
Grant  had  broken  a  blood-vessel,  and  they  thought 
she  was  dying." 

"  Is  Lily  deid?  "  demanded  Jamie. 

"  Oh  no;  how  could  you  fancy  such  a  thing?  But 
our  doctor  said  it  was  a  very  bad  case,  and  that  she 
could  not  live  above  a  week.  We  were  desolated  to 
part  with  her,  but  of  course  she  could  not  remain,  — 
I  mean,  we  knew  she  would  receive  more  attention  in 
a  hospital.    So  you  understand  " 

"A'  dae,"  broke  in  Jamie,  "fine;  Lily  workit  for 
you  an'  yir  bairns  in  a  time  o'  need  till  a'  the  strength 
she  brocht  wi'  her  wes  gane,  an'  then,  when  she  wes 
like  tae  dee,  ye  turned  her  oot  as  ye  wudna  hae  dune 
wi'  ane  o'  yir  horses.  Ye 've  a  graund  hoose  an' 
cairry  a  high  heid,  but  ye  're  a  puir,  meeserable 
cratur,  no  worthy  to  be  compared  wi'  the  lass  ye  hev 
dune  tae  deith." 

"You  have  no  right  "  but  Jamie's  eyes  went 

through  her,  and  she  fell  away;  "she  can  —  have  her 
wages  for  —  two  months." 

"  No  one  penny  o'  yir  siller  wull  she  touch  beyond 


302 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


her  lawful  due ;  gie  me  the  name  o'  the  hospital,  an' 
a'll  tak  care  o'  oor  puir  lass  masel." 

When  Jamie  was  told  at  the  hospital  that  Lily  had 
been  taken  away  again  in  the  ambulance  next  day  to 
the  house  of  the  visiting  physician,  his  wrath  had  no 
restraint. 

"  Is  there  nae  place  in  this  ceety  whar  a  freendless 
lassie  can  rest  till  she  gaes  tae  her  laist  hame?"  and 
Jamie  set  off  for  the  physician,  refusing  to  hear  any 
explanation. 

"  Hev  a'  an  appointment  wi'  Sir  Andra?  Yes,  a' 
hev,  an'  for  this  verra  meenut."  So  again  he  got 
access,  for  the  virile  strength  that  was  in  him. 

"  We  have  done  all  we  could  for  her,  but  she  has 
only  a  day  to  live,"  said  Sir  Andrew,  a  little  man, 
with  the  manner  of  a  great  heart;  "  she  will  be  glad 
to  see  you,  for  the  lassie  has  been  wearying  for  a 
sight  of  some  kent  face." 

"  Ye 're  Scotch,"  said  Jamie,  as  they  went  upstairs, 
softening  and  beginning  to  suspect  that  he  might  be 
mistaken  about  things  for  once  in  his  life;  "  hoo  did 
ye  bring  Lily  tae  yir  ain  hoose?" 

"  Never  mind  that  just  now,"  said  Sir  Andrew. 
"Wait  till  I  prepare  Lily  for  your  coming,"  and 
Jamie  owned  the  sudden  tone  of  authority. 

"  One  of  your  old  friends  has  come  to  see  you, 
Lily"  —  Jamie  noted  how  gentle  and  caressing  was 
the  voice  —  "  but  you  must  not  speak  above  a  whis- 
per nor  excite  yourself.  Just  step  into  the  next 
room,  nurse." 

"Jamie,"  and  a  flush  of  joy  came  over  the  pale, 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  303 


thin  face,  that  he  would  hardly  have  recognised, 
"  this  is  gude  .  .  .  o'  ye  .  .  .  tae  come  sae  far,  .  .  . 
a'  wes  wantin'  .  .  ,  tae  see  a  Drumtochty  face  afore 
a'  "  Then  the  tears  choked  her  words. 

"  Ou  ay,"  began  Jamie  with  deliberation.  "  You 
see  a'  wes  up  lookin'  aifter  some  o'  Drumsheugh's  fat 
cattle  that  he  sent  aff  tae  the  London  market,  so  of 
course  a'  cudna  be  here  withoot  giein'  ye  a  cry. 

"  It  wes  a  ploy  tae  find  ye,  juist  like  hide-an'-seek, 
but,  ma  certes,  ye  hev  got  a  fine  hame  at  laist,"  and 
Jamie  appraised  the  dainty  bed,  the  soft  carpet,  the 
little  table  with  ice  and  fruit  and  flowers,  at  their 
untold  value  of  kindness. 

"  Div  ye  no  ken,  Jamie,  that  a'm  "    But  Lily 

still  found  the  words  hard  to  say  at  three-and-twenty. 

"  Ye  mean  that  ye  hevna  been  takin'  care  o'  yirsel, 
an'  a'  can  see  that  masel,"  but  he  was  looking  every- 
where except  at  Lily,  who  was  waiting  to  catch  his 
eye.  "  Ye  'ill  need  to  gither  yir  strength  again  an 
come  back  wi'  me  tae  Drumtochty. 

"  Ye  ken  whar  thae  floors  grew,  Lily,"  and  Jamie 
hastily  produced  his  primroses;  "  a'  thocht  ye  micht 
like  a  sicht  o'  them." 

"  Doon  ablow  the  Lodge  in  the  Tochty  woods  .  .  . 
whar  the  river  taks  a  turn  .  .  .  an'  the  sun  is  shinin' 
bonnie  noo  .  .  .  an'  a  birk  stands  abune  the  bank 
an'  dips  intae  the  water." 

"Theverra  place,  a  couthy  corner  whar  the  first 
primroses  coom  oot.  Ye  hevna  forgot  the  auld  Glen, 
Lily.  Dinna  greet,  lassie,  or  Sir  Andra  'ill  be  angry. 
Ye  may  be  sure  he  'ill  dae  a'  he  can  for  ye." 


304 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


"  He  hes,  Jamie,  an'  mair  than  a'  can  tell ;  a'  wud 
like  Grannie  an'  .  .  .  the  fouk  tae  ken  hoo  a'  'ave 
been  treated  ...  as  if  a'  wes  a  leddy,  an'  his  ain 
blude. 

"  When  they  laid  me  in  the  bed  at  the  hospital, 
an'  a'  githered  that  ...  it  wudna  be  lang,  an  awfu' 
longin'  cam  intae  ma  hert  .  .  .  for  a  quiet  place  tae 
.  .  .  dee  in. 

"  It  was  a  graund  airy  room,  an'  everybody  wes 
kind,  an'  a'  hed  a'thing  ye  cud  wish  for,  but  ...  it 
gied  against  ma  nature  tae  .  .  .  wi'  a'  thae  strangers 
in  the  room  ;  oor  hooses  are  wee,  but  they're  oor  ain." 

Jamie  nodded ;  he  appreciated  the  horror  of  dying 
in  a  public  place. 

"  Sir  Andra  cam  roond  and  heard  the  accoont,  an' 
he  saw  me  greetin'  —  a'  cudna  help  it,  Jamie,  —  an' 
he  read  ma  name  at  the  tap  o'  the  bed. 

"  'You  're  from  my  country,'  he  said,  but  he  didna 
need  tae  tell  me,  for  a'  caught  the  soond  in  his  voice, 
an'  ma  hert  warmed  ;  '  don't  be  cast  down,  Lily;  '  a' 
coontit  it  kind  tae  use  ma  name;  'we 'ill  do  all  we 
can  for  you.' 

"  '  A'  ken  a'm  deein','  a'  said,  '  an'  a'm  no  feared, 
but  a'  canna  thole  the  thocht  o'  slippin'  awa'  in  a 
hospital;  it  wud  hae  been  different  at  hame.' 

"  '  Ye  'ill  no  want  a  hame  here,  Lily ;'  it  wes  braid 
Scotch  noo,  an'  it  never  soonded  sae  sweet;  an', 
Jamie"  —  here  the  whisper  was  so  low,  Jamie  had 
to  bend  his  head  —  "  a'  saw  the  tears  in  his  een." 

"  Rest  a  wee,  Lily;  a'm  followin' ;  sae  he  took  ye 
tae  his  ain  hoose  an'  pit  ye  in  the  best  room,  an' 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  305 


they 've  waitit  on  ye  as  if  ye  were  his  ain  dochter; 
.  .  .  ye  dinna  need  tae  speak;  a'  wudna  say  but  Sir 
Andra  micht  be  a  Christian  o'  the  auld  kind,  a'  mean, 
'  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  Me  in.'  " 

"Jamie,"  whispered  Lily,  before  he  left,  "  there 's 
juist  ae  thing  hurtin'  me  a  wee;  it's  the  wy  ma 
mistress  .  .  .  hes  treated  me.  A'  tried  tae  be  faith- 
fu',  though  maybe  a'  didna  answer  the  bells  sae  quick 
the  laist  sax  months,  ...  an'  a'  thocht  she  micht  .  .  . 
hae  peetied  a  lone  cratur  mair. 

"  It 's  no  that  a'  hev  ony  cause  o'  complaint  aboot 
wages  or  keep — a'  wes  twice  raised,  Jamie,  an'  hed 
a'thing  a'  needed,  an'  a'm  no  hurt  aboot  bein'  cairried 
tae  the  hospital,  for  there  were  five  stairs  tae  ma 
room,  an'  ...  it  wudna  hae  been  handy  tae  wait 
on  me. 

"  Na,  na,  Jamie,  a'm  no  onreasonable,  but  ...  a' 
houpit  she  wud  hae  come  tae  see  me  or  .  .  .  sent  a 
bit  word ;  gin  a  body 's  sober  (weak)  like  me,  ye  like 
tac  be  remembered ;  it  .  .  .  minds  you  o'  the  luve  o' 
God,  Jamie,"  and  Lily  turned  her  face  away.  "  A' 
wes  prayin'  tae  see  a  Drumtochty  face  aince  mair, 
an'  a've  gotten  that,  an'  gin  ma  mistress  hed  juist 
said,  .  .  .  'Ye've  dune  as  weel  as  ye  cud,'  ...  a' 
wudna  ask  mair." 

"  Ye  hae 't  then,  Lily,"  said  Jamie,  taking  an  instant 
resolution,  "  for  a've  been  tae  see  yir  mistress,  an' 
a'  wes  fair  .  .  .  ashamed  the  wy  she  spoke  aboot 
ye,  being  Drumtochty  masel,  an'  no'  wantin'  tae  show 
pride. 

u  As  sure 's  a'm  here,  she  cudna  find  words  for  her 

20 


306 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


thochts  o'  ye ;  it  wes  naethin'  but  yir  faithfulness  an' 
yir  gude  wark,  hoo  a'body  liket  ye  an'  hoo  gratefu' 
she  wes  to  you.  A'  wes  that  affeckit  that  a'  hed  tae 
leave. 

"  What  wud  ye  say,  wumman,  gin  yon  graund  lady 
hes  been  twice  a-day  at  the  hospital  speirin'  for  you, 
kerridge  an'  a',  mind  ye;  but  ye  ken  they  're  terrible 
busy  in  thae  places,  an'  canna  aye  get  time  tae  cairry 
the  messages. 

"But  that's  no  a',"  for  the  glow  on  Lily's  face 
was  kindling  Jamie's  inspiration,  and  he  saw  no  use 
for  economy  in  a  good  work.  "  What  think  ye  o' 
this  for  a  luck-penny?  twenty  pund  exact,  an'  a'  in 
goud ;  it  looks  bonnie  glintin'  in  the  licht,"  and  Jamie 
emptied  on  the  table  the  store  of  sovereigns  he  had 
brought  from  Muirtown  bank,  without  shame. 

"  The  mistress  surely  never  sent  that  .  .  .  tae  me?  " 
Lily  whispered. 

"Maybe  a'  pickit  it  up  on  the  street;  they  think 
awa'  in  the  country  the  verra  streets  are  goud  here. 
1  Give  her  this  from  us  all,'  were  her  verra  words," 
said  Jamie,  whose  conscience  had  abandoned  the 
unequal  struggle  with  his  heart.  "  '  Tell  her  that 
she 's  to  get  whatever  she  likes  with  it,  and  to  go 
down  to  her  home  for  a  long  holiday.'  " 

"  Did  ye  thank  her,  Jamie?  Nae  man  hes  a  better 
tongue." 

"  Ma  tongue  never  servit  me  better;  sail,  ye  wud 
hae  been  astonished  gin  ye  hed  herd  me,"  with  the 
emphasis  of  one  who  stood  at  last  on  the  rock  of 
truth. 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  307 


"  A'm  rael  content  noo,"  Lily  said,  "but  a'  canna 
speak  mair,  an'  a've  something  tae  say  that  'ill  no 
keep  till  the  morn,"  and  Jamie  promised  to  return 
that  evening. 

Jamie  waited  in  the  hall  till  the  last  of  the  famous 
physician's  patients  had  gone ;  then  he  went  in  and 
said : 

"When  a'  entered  this  hoose  ma  hert  wes  sair,  for 
a'  thocht  a  defenceless  lassie  hed  been  ill-used  in  her 
straits,  an'  noo  a'  wud  like  to  apologeese  for  ma  hot 
words.  Ye've  dune  a  gude  work  the  day  that's  no 
for  the  like  o'  me  to  speak  aboot,  but  it  'ill  hae  its 
reward  frae  the  Father  o'  the  fatherless." 

"  Toots,  man,  what  nonsense  is  this  you  're  talking?  " 
said  Sir  Andrew;  "  you  don't  understand  the  situa- 
tion. The  fact  is,  I  wanted  to  study  Lily's  case,  and  it 
was  handier  to  have  her  in  my  house.  Just  medical 
selfishness,  you  know." 

"  A'  micht  hae  thocht  o'  that,"  and  the  intelligence 
in  Jamie's  eye  was  so  sympathetic  that  Sir  Andrew 
quailed  before  it.  "We  hev  a  doctor  in  oor  pairish 
that's  yir  verra  marra  (equal),  aye  practeesin'  on  the 
sick  fouk,  and  for  lookin'  aifter  himsel  he  passes 
belief." 

"Juist  Weelum  Maclure  ower  again,"  Jamie  med- 
itated, as  he  went  along  the  street.  "  London  or 
Drumtochty,  great  physeecian  or  puir  country  doctor, 
there 's  no  ane  o'  them  tae  mend  anither  for  doonricht 
gudeness.  There 's  naebody  'ill  hae  a  chance  wi' 
them  at  the  latter  end ;  an'  for  leein'  tae,  a'  believe 
Sir  Andra  wud  beat  Weelum  himsel." 


3o8 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


When  Jamie  returned,  Lily  had  arranged  her  store 
of  gold  in  little  heaps,  and  began  at  once  to  give 
directions. 

"Ye  maun  py  ma  debts  first,  ye  ken,  Jamie;  a' 
cudna  .  .  .  leave,  thinkin'  that  a'  wes  awin'  a  penny 
tae  onybody.  Grannie  aye  brocht  us  up  tae  live  sae 
that  we  cud  look  a'body  in  the  face,  and  exceptin' 
Chairlie  .  .  . 

"Twal  shilling  tae  the  shoemaker,  an  honest,  well- 
daein'  man;  mony  a  time  he's  telt  me  aboot  John 
Wesley :  and  a  pund  tae  the  dressmaker ;  it 's  no  a'  for 
masel ;  there  wes  anither  Scotch  lassie,  .  .  .  but  that 
disna  maitter.  Cud  ye  pay  thae  accounts  the  nicht, 
for  the  dressmaker  'ill  be  needin'  her  money?  ...  It 
wes  ma  tribble  hindered  me ;  .  .  .  a'  started  ae  day, 
an'  the  catch  in  ma  side,  ...  a'  hed  tae  come  back. 

"  Noo  there 's  ma  kirk,  an'  we  maunna  forget  it,  for 
a've  been  rael  happy  there;  ma  sittin' wes  due  the 
beginnin'  o'  the  month,  and  a'  aye  gied  ten  shillings 
tae  the  missions;  an',  Jamie,  they  were  speakin'  o' 
presentin'  the  minister  wi'  some  bit  token  o'  respect 
aifter  bein'  twenty-five  years  here.  Pit  me  doon  for 
a  pund  —  no  ma  name,  ye  ken  ;  that  wud  be  forward  ; 
juist  .  .  .  '  A  gratefu'  servant  lass.' 

"  Ye  'ill  get  some  bonnie  handkerchief  or  sic-like 
for  the  nurse;  it  wudna  dae  tae  offer  her  siller;  an! 
dinna  forget  the  hoosemaid,  for  she 's  hed  a  sair 
trachle  wi'  me.  As  for  Sir  Andra,  .  .  .  naething  can 
py  him. 

"  Here's  five  pund,  and  ye 'ill  gie 't  tae  grannie; 
she  kens  wha  it's  for;  it'ill  juist  feenish  the  debt  .  .  . 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  309 


"  Ye  can  haud  yir  tongue,  Jamie.  Wull  ye  write  a 
line  tae  Chairlie,  an'  say  .  .  .  that  a'  wes  thinkin'  o' 
him  at  the  end,  an'  expectin'  him  tae  be  a  credit  tae 
his  fouk  .  .  .  someday;  an',  Jamie,  gin  he  ever  come 
back  in  his  richt  mind  tae  the  Glen,  ye  'ill  ...  no  be 
hard  on  him  like  ye  wes  laist  time?" 

"  Chairlie  'ill  no  want  a  freend  gin  a'  be  leevin', 
Lily;  is  that  a'?  for  ye 're  tirin'  yirsel." 

"There's  ae  thing  mair,  but  a'm  dootin'  it's  no 
richt  o'  me  tae  waste  grannie's  siller  on 't,  for  a' 
wantit  tae  leave  her  somethin'  wiselike ;  .  .  .  but,  O 
Jamie,  a've  taken  a  longin'  .  .  .  tae  lie  in  Drumtochty 
kirkyaird  wi'  ma  mither  an'  grannie. 

"  A'  ken  it's  a  notion,  but  a'  dinna  like  thae  ceme- 
tairies  wi'  their  gravel  roadies,  an'  their  big  monuments, 
an'  the  croods  o'  careless  fouk,  an'  the  hooses  pressin' 
on  them  frae  every  side." 

"  A'  promised  Mary,"  broke  in  Jamie,  "that  a'  wud 
bring  ye  hame,  an'  a'll  keep  ma  word,  Lily;  gin  it  be 
God's  wull  tae  tak  yir  soul  tae  Himsel,  yir  body  'ill 
be  laid  wi'  yir  ain  fouk,"  and  Jamie  left  hurriedly. 

Next  morning  Sir  Andrew  and  the  minister  were 
standing  by  Lily's  bedside,  and  only  looked  at  him 
when  he  joined  them. 

"Jamie,  .  .  .  thank  ye  a',  .  .  .  ower  gude  tae  .  .  . 
a  servant  lass,  .  .  .  tell  them  ...  at  hame." 

Each  man  bade  her  good-bye,  and  the  minister 
said  certain  words  which  shall  not  be  written. 

"  Thae  .  .  .  weary  stairs,"  and  she  breathed 
heavily  for  a  time ;  then,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "  A'm 
comin'.  " 


3io 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


"  Lily  has  reached  the  .  .  .  landing,"  said  Sir  An- 
drew, and  as  they  went  downstairs  no  man  would  have 
looked  at  his  neighbour's  face  for  a  ransom. 

"  A'  wrote  that  verra  nicht  tae  Drumsheugh," 
Jamie  explained  to  our  guard  between  the  Junction 
and  Kildrummie :  "  an'  a'm  no  sure  but  he  'ill  be 
doon  himsel  wi'  a  neebur  or  twa  juist  tae  gie  Lily  a 
respectable  funeral,  for  she  hes  nae  man  o'  her  bluide 
tae  come. 

"  Div  ye  see  onything,  Peter?"  Jamie  was  in  a 
fever  of  anxiety;  "  the  Kildrummie  hearse  stands 
heich,  an'  it  sud  be  there,  besides  the  mourners." 

"  Kildrummie  platform 's  black,"  cried  Peter  from 
the  footboard;  "the  'ill  be  twal  gin  there  be  a  man; 
ye  stick  by  ane  anither  weel  up  the  wy ;  it 's  no  often 
a  servant  is  brocht  hame  for  beerial ;  a'  dinna  mind  a 
case  sin  the  line  opened." 

While  they  went  through  Kildrummie,  Jamie 
walked  alone  behind  the  hearse  as  chief  mourner, 
with  a  jealously  regulated  space  of  five  feet  between 
him  and  the  neighbours;  but  as  soon  as  the  pine- 
woods  had  swallowed  up  the  procession,  he  dropped 
behind,  and  was  once  more  approachable. 

"Ye've  had  a  time  o't,"  said  Hillocks,  treating 
Jamie  as  an  ordinary  man  again ;  "  wha  wud  hae 
thocht  this  wes  tae  be  the  end  o'  yir  London  jaunt? 
Sail !  "  and  Hillocks  felt  himself  unable  to  grapple 
with  the  situation. 

"This  is  juist  naethin', "  with  vague  allusion  to  the 
arrival  by  railway  and  the  Kildrummie  hearse ;  "no 
worth  mentionin'  wi'  the  beginnin'  o'  the  beerial  at 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  311 


the  ither  end,"  and  Jamie  chose  Whinnie's  box,  out 
of  three  offered,  to  brace  him  for  descriptive 
narrative. 

"  Ye  maun  understand,"  began  Jamie,  knowing 
that  he  had  at  least  four  miles  before  it  would  be 
necessary  for  him  to  resume  his  position  of  solitary 
dignity,  "that  as  sune  as  Lily  turned  ill  she  was 
taken  tae  the  hoose  o'  a  great  London  doctor,  an' 
Sir  Andra  waited  on  her  himsel ;  there 's  maybe  no' 
anither  o'  his  patients  withoot  a  title ;  a'  herd  him 
speak  o'  a  Duchess  ae  day. 

"When  it  wes  a'  over,  puir  lassie,  if  they  didna 
fecht  tae  py  for  the  beerial.  The  minister  threipit 
wi'  me  that  he  hed  a  fund  at  his  kirk  for  sic  objects, 
a  sonsy  man  wi'  a  face  that  pit  ye  in  mind  o'  hame  to 
look  at  it,  but  a!  saw  through  his  fund;  it's  fearsome 
hoo  Scotch  folk  'ill  lee  tae  cover  gude  deeds." 

"  Div  ye  think  he  wild  hae  py'd  it  oot  o'  his  ain 
pocket?"  interrupted  Hillocks. 

"  1  Na,  na,'  a'  said  tae  the  minister,"  for  Hillocks  was 
beneath  notice,  "ye  maun  lat  her  mistress  bear  the 
beerial '  —  twenty  pund,  as  a'm  on  this  road,  she  gied  ; 
'a  faithfu'  servant,  she  \s  tae  want  for  nothing;  '  it  wes 
handsome,  an'  'ill  be  maist  comfortin'  tae  Mary. 

"Ye  saw  the  coffin  for  yersels,"  and  Jamie  now 
gave  himself  to  details  ;  "  the  London  hearse  hed 
gless  sides  and  twa  horses,  then  a  mourning-coach  wi' 
the  minister  an'  me  ;  but  that 's  the  least  o't.  What 
think  ye  cam  next?  " 

'4  Some  o'  the  neeburs  walkin'  maybe,"  suggested 
Whinnie. 


312 


A  SERVANT  LASS 


"  Walkin',"  repeated  Jamie,  with  much  bitterness, 
as  of  one  who  despaired  of  Drumtochty,  and  saw  no 
use  in  wasting  his  breath  ;  "  juist  so:  ye  've  hed  mair 
rain  here  than  in  England." 

"Never  mind  Whinnie,  Jamie,"  intervened  Drums- 
heugh  ;  "  we  maun  hae  the  rest  o'  the  funeral ;  wes 
there  another  coach?  " 

"  What  wud  ye  say,"  and  Jamie  spoke  with  much 
solemnity,  "  tae  a  private  kerridge,  an'  mair  than  ane? 
Ay,  ye  may  look,"  allowing  himself  some  freedom 
of  recollection.  "  Sir  Andra's  wes  next  tae  the 
coach,  wi'  the  blinds  drawn  doon,  and  aifter  it  an 
elder's  frae  her  kirk.  He  heard  o'  Lily  through  the 
minister,  an'  naething  wud  sateesfy  him  but  tae  dae 
her  sic  honour  as  he  cud. 

"  Gaein'  roond  the  corners  o'  the  streets  —  a'  cudna 
help  it,  neeburs  —  a'  juist  took  a  glisk  oot  at  the 
window,  an'  when  a'  saw  the  banker's  horses  wi'  the 
silver  harness,  a'  wushed  ye  hed  been  there;  sic 
respect  tae  a  Drumtochty  lass. 

"  Ye  saw  the  lilies  on  the  coffin,"  wound  up  Jamie, 
doing  his  best  to  maintain  a  chastened  tone.  "Did 
ye  catch  the  writin'  — 

*  In  remembrance  of  Lily  Grant, 
Who  did  her  duty.' 

Sir  Andra's  ain  hand ;  an'  Lily  got  nae  mair  than  her 
due." 

When  Jamie  parted  with  Drumsheugh  on  the 
way  home,  and  turned  down  the  road  to  Mary's 
cottage,  to  give  her  the  lilies  and  a  full  account  of 


HOW  SHE  CAME  HOME  313 


her  lassie,  Drumsheugh  watched  him  till  he  dis- 
appeared. 

"  Thirty  pund  wes  what  he  drew  frae  the  Muirtown 
bank  oot  o'  his  savings,  for  the  clerk  telt  me  himsel, 
and  naebody  jalouses  the  trick.  It 's  the  cleverest 
thing  Jamie  ever  did,  an'  ane  o'  the  best  a've  seen 
in  Drumtochty." 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


Drumtochty  had  a  legitimate  curiosity  regarding 
the  history  of  any  new  tenant,  and  Hillocks  was 
invaluable  on  such  occasion,  being  able  to  collect  a 
complete  biography  during  a  casual  conversation  on 
the  state  of  markets.  No  details  of  family  or  busi- 
ness were  left  out  in  the  end,  but  there  was  an 
unwritten  law  of  precedence,  and  Hillocks  himself 
would  not  have  condescended  on  the  rent  till  he 
had  satisfied  himself  as  to  the  incomer's  religion. 
Church  connection  was  universal  and  unalterable  in 
the  Glen.  When  Lachlan  Campbell  had  his  argu- 
ment with  Carmichael,  he  still  sat  in  his  place  in 
the  Free  Kirk,  and  although  Peter  Macintosh 
absented  himself  for  a  month  from  the  Parish  Kirk 
over  the  pew  question,  he  was  careful  to  explain  to 
the  doctor  that  he  had  not  forgotten  himself  so  far 
as  to  become  a  renegade. 

"Na,  na,  a'm  no  coming  back,"  Peter  had  said 
after  the  doctor  had  done  his  best,  "till  ye  're  dune 
wi'  that  stove,  an'  ye  needna  prig  (plead)  wi'  me 
ony  langer.  What  is  the  gude  o'  being  a  Presby- 
terian gin  ye  canna  object?  but  a' 11  give  ye  this 


318  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


sateesfaction,  that  though  a'  dinna  darken  the  kirk 
door  for  the  lave  o'  ma  life,  a' 11  no  gang  ony  ither 
place. " 

An  immigrant  was  the  only  change  in  our  church 
circles,  and  the  kirkyard  waited  for  the  news  of 
Milton's  creed  with  appreciable  interest. 

"Weel,  Hillocks?"  inquired  Drumsheugh,  con- 
sidering it  unnecessary  in  the  circumstances  to 
define  his  question. 

"Ou  aye,"  for  Hillocks  accepted  his  responsibil- 
ity, "a*  gied  Tammas  Bisset  a  cry  laist  Friday,  him 
'at  hes  the  grocer's  shop  in  the  Sooth  Street  an'  a' 
the  news  o'  Muirtown,  juist  tae  hear  the  price  o' 
butter,  and  a'  happened  tae  licht  on  Milton  an'  tae 
say  he  wud  be  an  addeetion  tae  oor  kirk." 

"  Did  ye,  though?"  cried  Whinnie,  in  admiration 
of  Hillocks's  opening  move;  "that  wes  rael  cannie, 
but  hoo  did  ye  ken  ?  " 

"'Gin  he  be  a  help  tae  Drumtochty  Kirk,'  says 
Tammas  "  —  Hillocks  never  turned  out  of  his  way 
for  Whinnie  —  "'it 's  mair  than  he  wes  tae  the  Auld 
Kirk  here  in  twenty  year. 

"The  Free  Kirk  'ill  be  pleased  then,"  broke  in 
Whinnie,  who  was  incorrigible;  "they  'ill  mak  him 
a  deacon:  they're  terrible  for  the  Sustentation 
Fund." 

"'  It 's  no  lost,  Tammas,  that  a  freend  gets,'  says 
I,"  continued  Hillocks,  "'an'  we  'ill  no  grudge  him 
tae  the  Free  Kirk;  na,  na,  we're  no  sae  veecious 
that  wy  in  the  Glen  as  ye  are  in  Muirtown.  Ilka 
man  sud  hae  his  ain  principle  and  py  his  debts. 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


319 


"'  He  coonted  the  Free  Kirk  waur  than  the  auld 
here,  an'  a'm  thinkin'  he  's  ower  pleased  wi'  him- 
self tae  change  up  by;  he  'ill  show  ye  some  new 
fashions,  a'm  judgin','  says  Tammas. "  And  Hil- 
locks ceased,  that  the  fathers  might  face  the  pros- 
pect of  a  new  religion. 

"It's  no  chancy,"  observed  Whinnie,  collecting 
their  mind. 

"  There  wes  a  man  doon  Dunleith  wy  in  ma 
father's  time,"  began  Drumsheugh,  ransacking 
ancient  history  for  parallels,  "  'at  wud  hae  naethin' 
tae  dac  wi'  kirks.  He  preached  himsel  in  the 
kitchen,  an'  bapteezed  his  faimily  in  the  mill  clam. 
They  ca'd  him  a  dookie,  but  a've  heard  there  's 
rnair  than  ae  kind;  what  wud  he  be,  Jamie?" 

"  Parteeklar  Baptist,"  replied  that  oracle;  "  he 
buried  his  wife  in  the  stackyaird,  an'  opened  vials 
for  a  year;  gin  Milton  be  o'  that  persuasion,  it  'ill 
be  a  variety  in  the  Glen;  it  'ill  keep  's  frae 
wearyin'. " 

"The  Dunleith  man  aye  paid  twenty  shillings  in 
the  pund,  at  ony  rate,"  Drumsheugh  wound  up, 
"an'  his  word  wi'  a  horse  wes  a  warranty:  a'  dinna 
like  orra  releegions  masel,  but  the  '11  aye  be  some 
camsteary  (unmanageable)  craturs  in  the  warld,"  and 
the  kirkyard  tried  to  be  hopeful. 

Milton's  first  visit  to  the  kirk  was  disappointing, 
and  stretched  Drumtochty's  courtesy  near  unto  the 
breaking.  Hillocks,  indeed,  read  Milton's  future 
career  in  his  conduct  that  day,  and  indulged  in 
mournful  prophecies  at  the  smiddy  next  evening. 


320  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


"  Ye  're  richt  eneuch,  smith;  that 's  juist  what  he 
did,  an'  a'  took  his  measure  that  meenut.  When 
he  telt  Drumsheugh  that  it  wes  nae  time  tae  be 
speakin'  o'  hairst  at  the  kirk  door,  an'  offered  us  a 
bookie  each,  a'  saw  there  wes  somethin'  far  wrang 
wi'  him.  As  sure  as  a'm  stannin'  here,  he  'ill  be  a 
tribble  in  the  pairish. 

"The  Milton  seat  is  afore  oors,  an'  a'  saw  a'  he 
did,  frae  the  beginnin'  o'  the  sermon  tae  the  end, 
an'  a'  tell  ye  his  conduct  wes  scandalous.  Ae 
meenut  he  wud  shak  his  head  at  the  doctor,  as  if  he 
kent  better  than  the  verra  minister;  the  next  he  wud 
be  fleein'  through  his  Bible  aifter  a  text.  He  wes 
never  at  peace,  naither  sittin'  nor  standin' ;  he 's  juist 
an  etter-cap.  There's  nae  peace  whar  yon  man  is, 
a' 11  warrant;  a'  never  closed  an  ee  laist  Sabbath." 

It  was  into  Jamie's  hands  Milton  fell  when  he 
reviewed  the  sermon  on  the  way  home,  and  expressed 
his  suspicion  of  ministers  who  selected  texts  on 
subjects  like  Mercy  and  Justice. 

"  We  aye  get  that  sermon  aboot  the  latter  end  o' 
hairst,  Milton,  an'  it 's  pop'lar;  the  fouk  hae  a  great 
notion  o'  a  gude  life  up  here,  an'  they're  ill  tae 
change.  A'm  no  sayin'  but  ye  're  richt,  though, 
an'  it  'ill  be  a  help  tae  hae  yir  creeticism. 

"  Drumtochty  is  clean  infatuat  aboot  the  doctor, 
an'  canna  see  onything  wrang  in  him.  He's  been 
a'  his  days  in  the  Glen,  an'  though  he's  no  sae 
stirrin'  as  he  micht  be,  the  mischief  o't  is  that  he 
aye  lives  a'  he  preaches,  an'  the  stupid  bodies  canna 
see  the  want. 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


321 


"As  for  texts,  the  doctor's  nae  doot  aggravatin'  ; 
there  's  times  a've  wanted  tae  hae  the  Sermon  on 
the  Mount  torn  oot  o'  the  Bible  an'  gude  bits  o'  the 
Prophets;  he's  aye  flingin'  them  in  oor  faces. 
Milton,  a'  tell  ye,"  and  Jamie  stood  still  on  the 
road  to  give  solemnity  to  his  description  of  Doctor 


ON  THE  WAV  HOME  FROM  THE  KIRK 


Davidson's  defects,  "if  there 's  a  moral  text  atween 
the  boords  o'  the  Bible,  he  'ill  hae  a  hand  o't." 

"A'm  rael  pleased  tae  hear  sic  soond  views, 
Mister  " 

"  Soutar  is  ma  name  —  Jamie  maist  commonly." 

"Soutar, "  and  Milton  might  be  excused  falling 
into  the  snare,  "ye  ken  the  difference  atween  a 
show  o'  warks  an'  the  root  o'  the  maitter.     A'  vves 

21 


322  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


astonished  at  yir  elder;  when  a'  pointed  oot  the 
defects  in  the  sermon,  he  said,  '  Gin  we  dae  a'  the 
doctor  telt  us,  we  'ill  no  be  far  wrang; '  ye  micht  as 
weel  be  a  heathen," 

"Drumsheugh  is  nae  standard,"  Jamie  explained; 
"he's  sae  begottit  (taken  up)  wi'  the  commandments 
that  a'm  feared  o'  him.  He 's  clever  at  a  bargain, 
but  gin  he  thocht  he  hed  cheatit  onybody,  Drums- 
heugh wudna  sleep;  it's  clean  legalism. 

"  Ye  micht  try  the  Free  Kirk,  Milton;  they 've  a 
new  man,  an'  he's  warmer  than  the  doctor;  he's 
fund  oot  anither  Isaiah,  an'  he  's  sae  learned  that  he 
'ill  maybe  hae  twa  Robbie  Burns'  yet;  but  that's 
naither  here  nor  there ;  he 's  young  an'  fu'  o'  speerit ; 
gie  him  a  trial. " 

Jamie  discovered  with  much  interest  that  Milton 
had  been  examining  the  Free  Church,  and  had 
expressed  his  strong  dissatisfaction,  some  said  be- 
cause of  grossly  erroneous  doctrine,  others  because 
Carmichael  had  refused  to  allow  him  to  preach. 
Doctrine  was  the  ground  he  alleged  to  Jamie,  who 
looked  in  to  see  how  he  had  got  settled  and  what  he 
thought  of  things. 

"A'  peety  this  Glen,"  he  said,  with  solemnity; 
"  ae  place  it 's  cauld  morality,  an'  the  ither  it 's  fause 
teaching.  Div  ye  ken  what  a'  heard  wi'  ma  ain 
ears  laist  Sabbath  frae  Maister  Carmichael  ?  " 

Jamie  was  understood  to  declare  his  conviction 
that  a  man  who  was  not  satisfied  with  one  Isaiah 
might  be  capable  of  anything. 

"  Ye  ken  verra  weel,"  for  Milton  believed  Jamie  a 


A  CORNER  OF  THE  STUDY  IN  THE  MANSE 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION  325 


kindred  spirit  at  this  stage,  "  that  we're  a'  here  on 
probation,  and  that  few  are  chosen,  juist  a  hanclfu' 
here  and  there;  no  on  accoont  o'  ony  excellence  in 
oorsels,  so  we  maunna  boast." 

"Verra  comfortin'  for  the  handfu',"  murmured 
Jamie,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  roof. 

"  Weel,  gin  yon  young  man  didna  declare  in  sae 
mony  words  that  we  were  a'  God's  bairns,  an'  that 
He  wes  gaein'  tae  dae  the  best  He  cud  wi'  every 
ane  o's.  What  think  ye  o'  that?  —  nae  difference 
atween  the  elect  an'  the  ithers,  nae  preeveleges  nor 
advantages;  it 's  against  baith  scriptur  an'  reason." 

"  He  wes  maybe  mixin'  up  the  Almichty  wi'  his 
ain  father,"  suggested  Jamie;  "a've  heard  ignorant 
fouk  say  that  a'  the  differ  is  that  the  Almichty  is  no 
waur  than  oor  ain  father,  but  oot  o'  a'  sicht  kinder. 
But  whar  wud  ye  be  gin  ye  allooed  the  like  o'  that? 
half  o'  the  doctrines  wud  hae  tae  be  reformed,"  and 
Jamie  departed,  full  of  condolence  with  Milton. 

It  was  not  wonderful  after  these  trying  experiences 
that  Milton  became  a  separatist,  and  edified  himself 
and  his  household  in  his  kitchen.  Perhaps  the  Glen 
might  also  be  excused  on  their  part  for  taking  a 
somewhat  severe  view  of  this  schismatic  proceeding 
and  being  greatly  stirred  by  a  sermon  of  the  doctor's 
—  prepared  especially  for  the  occasion  —  in  which 
the  sin  of  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram  was  power- 
fully expounded,  and  Milton's  corn  room  described 
as  a  "  Plymouthistic  hut." 

"Macertes,"  said  Hillocks  to  Jamie  on  the  way 
home,   "the  doctor's  roosed.     Yon  wes  an  awfu' 


326  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


name  he  cam  oot  wi' ;  it 's  no  verra  cannie  tae  hae 
onything  tae  dae  wi'  thae  preachin',  paitterin' 
craturs. " 

"There  wes  a  sough  through  the  pairish,  Hillocks, 
that  ye  were  ower  by  sittin'  in  the  cauf-hoose  (chaff- 
house)  yersel  laist  week,  an'  that  ye  were  extraordi- 
nar'  ta'en  up  wi'  Milton.  Elspeth  Macfadyen  wes 
threipin'  (insisting)  that  you  an'  Milton  were 
thinkin'  o'  starting  a  new  kirk.  Miltonites  wud  be 
a  graundname;  a'  dinna  think  it 's  been  used  yet." 

"Elspeth's  tongue's  nae  scannel. "  Hillocks's 
curiosity  had  led  him  astray,  and  he  was  now  much 
ashamed.  "A'  juist  lookit  in  ae  forenicht  tae  see 
what  kin  o'  collie-shangie  Milton  wes  cairryin'  on, 
an'  a'  wes  fair  disgustit.  He  ran  the  hale  time  frae 
Daniel  tae  the  Revelations,  an'  it  wes  a'  aboot 
beasts  frae  beginnin'  tae  end.  A  rammelin'  idiot, 
naethin'  else,"  and  Hillocks  offered  up  Milton  as 
a  sacrifice  to  the  indignation  of  the  Glen. 

Shortly  afterwards  Hillocks  began  to  make  dark 
allusions  that  excited  a  distinct  interest,  and  invested 
his  conversation  with  a  piquant  flavour. 

"  It  wes  an  ill  day  when  his  lordship  lat  yon  man 
intae  the  pairish,"  and  he  shook  his  head  with  an  air 
of  gloomy  mystery.  "A'  wush  a'  saw  him  oot  o't 
withoot  mischief.  Oor  fouk  hev  been  weel  brocht 
up,  an'  they  're  no  what  ye  wud  ca'  simple,  but 
there 's  nae  sayin' ;  weemen  are  easily  carried." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Jamie  encouragingly. 

"A'm  telt,"  continued  Hillocks,  "that  the 
wratches  are  that  cunnin'  an'  plausible  they  wud 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


327 


wile  a  bird  aff  a  tree;  they  got  intae  a  pairish  in  the 
Carse,  and  afore  the  year  wes  oot  gin  they  didna 
whup  aff  three  servant  lassies  tae  Ameriky. " 

"  Div  ye  mean  tae  say  that  Milton  ..."  and  the 
fathers  noticed  how  Jamie  was  guiding  Hillocks  to 
his  point. 

"Ye 've  said  the  word,  Jamie,  an'  it 's  a  gey  like 
business  for  Drumtochty, "  and  it  was  known  in 
twenty-four  hours  up  as  far  as  Glen  Urtach  that 
Hillocks  had  hunted  Milton's  religion  to  earth,  and 
found  him  out  to  be  a  Mormon. 

This  was  considered  one  of  Jamie's  most  success- 
ful efforts,  and  the  Glen  derived  so  much  pure 
delight  from  the  very  sight  of  Milton  for  some  weeks 
that  he  might  have  become  popular  had  it  not  been 
for  an  amazing  combination  of  qualities. 

"His  tracts  are  irritatin',  an'  no  what  we 've  been 
accustomed  tae  in  Drumtochty"  —  Drumsheugh  was 
giving  judgment  in  the  kirkyard  —  "but  a'  cud  thole 
them.  What  a'  canna  pit  up  wi'  is  his  whinin'  an' 
leein'.  A'  never  heard  as  muckle  aboot  conscience 
an'  never  saw  sac  little  o't  in  this  pairish." 

It  was  a  tribute  in  its  way  to  Milton  that  he 
alone  of  all  men  aroused  the  dislike  of  the  kindest 
of  parishes,  so  that  men  fled  from  before  his  face. 
Hillocks,  who  was  never  happy  unless  he  had  two 
extra  on  his  dogcart,  and  unto  that  end  only  drew 
the  line  at  tramps,  would  pass  with  a  bare  compli- 
ment on  board,  and  drop  the  scantiest  salutation. 

"Hoo  are  ye  the  day,  Milton?  a'  doot  it 's  threat  - 
enin'  a  shoor. " 


328  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


Drumsheugh  had  been  known  to  disappear  into  a 
potato  field  at  Milton's  approach,  under  pretence 
of  examining  the  tubers,  while  Burnbrae,  who  was 
incarnate  charity,  and  prejudiced  in  favour  of  any- 
thing calling  itself  religion,  abandoned  this  "pro- 
fessor "  in  regretful  silence.  Drumtochty  was 
careful  not  to  seat  themselves  in  the  third  until 
Milton  had  taken  his  place,  when  they  chose  another 
compartment,  until  at  last  Peter  used  to  put  in  this 
superior  man  with  Kildrummie  to  avoid  delay.  It 
was  long  before  Milton  realised  that  Drumtochty 
did  not  consider  his  company  a  privilege,  and  then 
he  was  much  lifted,  seeing  clearly  the  working  of 
conscience  in  a  benighted  district. 

"Milton  hes  been  giein'  oot  in  Muirtown  that 
he's  thankfu'  he  wes  sent  tae  Drumtochty,"  Jamie 
announced  one  Sabbath,  with  chastened  delight, 
"an'  that  his  example  wes  affectin'  us  already. 

"  '  They  daurna  face  me  in  the  verra  train, '  says  he 
tae  Tammas  Bisset;  'it's  the  first  time  yon  fouk 
ever  came  across  a  speeritual  man.  They  're  begin- 
nin'  tae  revile,  an'  we  ken  what  that  means;  a' 
never  thocht  a'  wud  hae  the  honour  of  persecu- 
tion for  righteousness'  sake.'  That 's  his  ain  mind 
on 't,  an'  it 's  a  comfort  tae  think  that  Milton 's 
contented. " 

"A've  kent  ane  or  twa  fair  leears  in  ma  time," 
reflected  Hillocks,  "but  for  a  bareface  " 

"Persecuted  is  a  lairge  word,"  broke  in  Drums- 
heugh, "ay,  an'  a  graund  tae,  an'  no  fit  for  Milton's 
mooth.    Gin  he  named  it  tae  me,  a'd  teach  him 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


329 


anither  story.  A  foumart  (pole  cat)  micht  as  weel 
speak  o'  persecution  when  he  's  hunted  aff  the  hill- 
side. 

"Na,  na,"  and  Drumsheugh  set  himself  to  state 
the  case  once  for  all,  "we've  oor  faults  maybe  in 
Drumtochty,"  going  as  far  by  way  of  concession  as 
could  be  expected,  "but  we're  no  juist  born  fules; 
we  've  as  muckle  sense  as  the  chuckies,  'at  ken  the 
differ  atween  corn  an'  chaff  \vi'  a  hike." 

Jamie  indicated  by  a  nod  that  Drumsheugh  was 
on  the  track. 

"  Noo  there's  ane  o'  oor  neeburs, "  proceeding  to 
illustration,  "  'at  lectures  against  drink  frae  ae  new 
year  tae  anither.  He's  a  true  man,  an'  he  luves 
the  Glen,  an'  naebody  'ill  say  an  ill  word  o'  Airchie 
Moncur  —  no  in  this  kirkyaird,  at  ony  rate." 

"  A  fine  bit  craiturie,"  interjected  Hillocks,  whom 
Archie  had  often  besought  in  vain  to  take  the  pledge 
for  example's  sake,  being  an  elder. 

" Weel, "  resumed  Drumsheugh,  "there's  anither 
neebur,  an'  a'm  telt  that  his  prayer  is  little  ahint 
the  minister's  at  the  Free  Kirk  meetin's,  and  a' 
believe  it,  for  a  glide  life  is  bund  tae  yield  a  good 
prayer.  Is  there  a  man  here  that  wudna  be  gled  tae 
stand  wi'  Burnbrae  in  the  Jidgment?" 

"  A'm  intendin'  tae  keep  as  close  as  a'  can  masel," 
said  Jamie,  and  there  was  a  general  feeling  that  it 
would  be  a  wise  line. 

"It's  no  Milton's  preachin'  Drumtochty  disna 
like,  but  his  leein',  an'  that  Drumtochty  canna 
abide.     Nae  man,"  summed  up  Drumsheugh,  "hes 


330 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


ony  richt  tae  speak  aboot  releegion  ye  canna  trust  in 
the  market. " 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Milton  counted  Drumtochty 
as  an  outcast  place  because  they  did  not  speak  about 
the  affairs  of  the  life  to  come,  and  Drumtochty 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Milton  because  he 
was  not  straight  in  the  affairs  of  the  life  which  now 
is.  Milton  might  have  gone  down  to  the  grave 
condemning  and  condemned  had  it  not  been  for  his 
sore  sickness,  which  brought  him  to  the  dust  of 
death,  and  afforded  Drumsheugh  the  opportunity  for 
his  most  beneficent  achievement. 

"They  think  he  may  come  roond  wi'  care,"  re- 
ported Drumsheugh,  "but  he  'ill  be  wakely  for  twa 
month,  an'  he  'ill  never  be  the  same  man  again; 
it's  been  a  terrible  whup. "  But  the  kirkyard,  for 
the  first  time  in  such  circumstances,  was  not 
sympathetic. 

"  It 's  a  mercy  he  's  no  been  taken  awa',"  responded 
Hillocks,  after  a  distinct  pause,  "an'  it  'ill  maybe 
be  a  warnin'  tae  him;  he's  no  been  unco  freendly 
sin  he  cam  intae  the  Glen,  either  wi'  his  tongue  or 
his  hands. " 

"A'm  no  sayin'  he  hes,  Hillocks,  but  it's  no  a 
time  tae  cuist  up  a  man's  fauts  when  he 's  in  tribble, 
an'  it 's  no  the  wy  we 've  hed  in  Drumtochty. 
Milton's  no  fit  tae  meddle  wi'  onybody  noo,  nor, 
for  that  maitter,  tae  manage  his  ain  business. 
There's  no  mair  than  twa  acre  seen  the  ploo;  a'm 
dootin'  the  '11  be  a  puir  sowin'  time  next  spring  at 
Milton." 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


33i 


"Gin  he  hedna  been  sic  a  creetical  an'  ill-tongued 
body  the  Glen  wud  sune  hae  cleared  up  his  stubble; 
div  ye  mind  when  Netherton  lost  his  horses  wi'  the 
glanders,  an'  we  jined 
an'  did  his  plooin' ?  it 
wes  a  wise-like  day's 
wark. " 

"  Yir  hert 's  in  the 
richt  place,"  said 
Drumsheugh,  ignoring 
qualifications  ;  "  we  '11 
haud  a  plooin'  match 
at  Milton,  an'  gie  the 
cratur  a  helpin'  hand. 
A'm  will  in'  tae  stand 
ae  prize,  an'  Burnbrae 
'ill  no  be  behind ;  a' 
wudna  say  but  Hil- 
locks himsel  micht 
come  oot  wi'  a  five 
shillin'  bit." 

They  helped  Milton 
out  of  bed  next  Thurs- 
day, and  he  sat  in  si- 
lence at  a  gable  window  that  commanded  the  bare 
fields.  Twenty  ploughs  were  cutting  the  stubble 
into  brown  ridges,  and  the  crows  followed  the  men 
as  they  guided  the  shares  with  stiff  resisting  body, 
while  Drumsheugh  could  be  seen  going  from  field 
to  field  with  authority. 

"What's  this  for?"  inquired  Milton  at  length; 


MILTON  AT  THE  WINDOW 


332  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


"  naebody  askit  them,  an'  .  .  .  them  an'  me  hevna 
been  pack  (friendly)  thae  laist  twa  years." 

"  It 's  a  love-darg,"  said  his  wife,  "  because  ye  've 
been  sober  (ill),  they  juist  want  to  show  kindness, 
bein'  oor  neeburs.  Drumsheugh,  a'  hear,  set  it 
agaein',  but  there  's  no  a  fairmer  in  the  Glen  hesna 
a  hand  in  't  wi'  horses  or  sic-like." 

Milton  made  no  remark,  but  he  was  thinking, 
and  an  hour  before  midday  he  called  for  his  wife. 

"It 's  rael  gude  o'  them,  an',  wumman,  it 's  mair 
than  ...  a'  wud  hae  dune  for  them.  An',  Eesie, 
.  .  .  gither  a' thing  thegither  ye  can  get,  and  gie 
the  men  a  richt  dinner,  and  bid  Jeemes  see  that 
every  horse  hes  a  feed  o'  corn  ...  a  full  ane; 
dinna  spare  onything  the  day." 

It  was  a  point  of  honour  on  such  occasions  that 
food  for  man  and  beast  should  be  brought  with  them, 
so  that  there  be  no  charge  on  their  neighbour,  but 
Drumsheugh  was  none  the  less  impressed  by  Milton's 
generous  intentions.  When  he  told  Hillocks,  who 
was  acting  as  his  aide-de-camp,  that  worthy  ex- 
claimed, "Michty, "  and  both  Drumsheugh  and 
Hillocks  realised  that  a  work  of  grace  had  begun 
in  Milton. 

He  refused  to  lie  down  till  the  men  and  horses 
went  out  again  to  work,  and  indeed  one  could  not 
see  in  its  own  way  a  more  heartening  sight.  Pair 
by  pair  our  best  horses  passed,  each  with  their  own 
ploughman,  and  in  a  certain  order,  beginning  with 
Saunders,  Drumsheugh' s  foreman,  full  of  majesty  at 
the  head  of  the  parish,  and  concluding  with  the  pair 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION  333 


of  hardy  little  beasts  that  worked  the  uplands  of 
Bogleigh.  A  fortnight  had  been  spent  on  prepara- 
tion, till  every  scrap  of  brass  on  the  high-peaked 
collars  and  bridles  glittered  in  the  sunlight,  and 
the  coats  of  the  horses  were  soft  and  shiny.  The 
tramp  of  the  horses'  feet  and  the  rattle  of  the  plough 
chains  rang  out  in  the  cold  November  air,  which 
had  just  that  touch  of  frost  which  makes  the  ground 
crisp  for  the  ploughshare.  The  men  upon  the 
horses  were  the  pick  of  the  Glen  for  strength,  and 
carried  themselves  with  the  air  of  those  who  had 
come  to  do  a  work.  Drumsheugh  was  judge,  and 
Saunders  being  therefore  disqualified,  the  first  prize 
went  to  young  Burnbrae,  the  second  to  Netherton's 
man,  and  the  third  to  Tammas  Mitchell  —  who  got 
seven  and  sixpence  from  Mil  locks,  and  bought  a 
shawl  for  Annie  next  Friday.  Drumsheugh  declared 
it  was  rig  for  rig  the  cleanest,  quickest,  straightest 
work  he  had  seen  in  Drumtochty,  and  when  the 
ploughs  ceased  there  was  not  a  yard  of  oat  stubble 
left  on  Milton. 

After  the  last  horse  had  left  and  the  farm  was 
quiet  again  —  no  sign  of  the  day  save  the  squares  of 
fresh  brown  earth  —  Drumsheugh  went  in  alone  — 
he  had  never  before  crossed  the  door  —  to  inquire  for 
Milton  and  carry  the  goodwill  of  the  Glen.  Milton 
had  prided  himself  on  his  fluency,  and  had  often 
amazed  religious  meetings,  but  now  there  was  noth- 
ing audible  but  "gratefu'  "  and  "humbled,"  and 
Drumsheugh  set  himself  to  relieve  the  situation. 

"Dinna  mak  sae  muckle  o't,  man,  as  if  we  hed 


334  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


worked  yir  fairm  for  a  year  an'  savit  ye  frae  beggary. 
We  kent  ye  didna  need  oor  help,  but  we  juist  wantit 
tae  be  neeburly  an'  gie  ye  a  lift  tae  health. 

"  A'body  is  pleased  ye  're  on  the  mend,  and  there 's 
no  ane  o's  that  wudna  be  prood  tae  dae  ony  troke 
for  ye  till  ye 're  able  tae  manage  for  yersel;  a'll 
come  roond  masel  aince  a  week  an  gie  a  look  ower 
the  place."  Milton  said  not  one  word  as  Drums- 
heugh  rose  to  go,  but  the  grip  of  the  white  hand 
that  shot  out  from  below  the  bed-clothes  was  not 
unworthy  of  Drumtochty. 

"Ye  said,  Hillocks,  that  Milton  wes  a  graund 
speaker,"  said  Drumsheugh  next  Sabbath,  "an'  a' 
wes  expectin'  somethin'  by  ordinar  on  Thursday 
nicht,  but  he  hedna  sax  words,  an'  ilka  ane  wes 
separate  frae  the  ither.  A'm  judgin'  that  it 's  easy 
tae  speak  frae  the  lips,  but  the  words  come  slow  and 
sairfrae  the  hert,  an'  Milton  hesahert;  there's  nae 
doot  o'  that  noo. " 

On  the  first  Sabbath  of  the  year  the  people  were 
in  the  second  verse  of  the  Hundredth  Psalm,  when 
Milton,  with  his  family,  came  into  the  kirk  and 
took  possession  of  their  pew.  Hillocks  maintained 
an  unobtrusive  but  vigilant  watch,  and  had  no  fault 
to  find  this  time  with  Milton.  The  doctor  preached 
on  the  Law  of  Love,  as  he  had  a  way  of  doing  at  the 
beginning  of  each  year,  and  was  quite  unguarded  in 
his  eulogium  of  brotherly  kindness,  but  Milton  did 
not  seem  to  find  anything  wrong  in  the  sermon. 
Four  times — Hillocks  kept  close  to  facts  —  he 
nodded  in  grave  approval,  and  once,  when  the  doctor 


MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


335 


insisted  with  great  force  that  love  did  more  than 
every  power  to  make  men  good,  Milton  was  evidently 
carried,  and  blew  his  nose  needlessly.  Hillocks 
affirmed  stoutly  that  the  crumpled  pound  note  found 
in  the  recesses  of  the  ladle  that  day  came  from 
Milton,  and  corroborative  evidence  accumulated  in  a 
handsome  gown  sent  to 
Saunders'  wife  for  the 
lead  he  gave  the  plough.-, 
that  famous  day,  and  a 
box  of  tea,  enough  to 
last  her  time,  received 
by  blind  old  Barbara 
Stewart.  Milton  was 
another  man,  and  when 
he  appeared  once  more 
at  the  station  and  went 
into  a  compartment  left 
to  Kildrummie,  Drums- 
he  ugh  rescued  him  with 
a  show  of  violence  and 
brought  him   into   the  IN  THE  AULD  KIRK 

midst  of  Drumtochty, 

who  offered  him  exactly  six  different  boxes  on  the 
way  to  the  Junction,  and  reviewed  the  crops  on  Mil- 
ton for  the  last  two  years  in  a  distinctly  conciliatory 
spirit. 

Milton  fought  his  battle  well,  and  only  once 
alluded  to  the  past. 

"It  wes  ma  misfortune,"  he  said  to  Drumsheugh, 
as  they  went  home  from  kirk  together,  "tae  mix  wi' 


336  MILTON'S  CONVERSION 


fouk  that  coonted  words  mair  than  deeds,  an'  were 
prooder  tae  open  a  prophecy  than  tae  dae  the  wull  o' 
God. 

"  We  thocht  that  oor  knowledge  wes  deeper  an' 
oor  life  better  than  oor  neeburs',  an'  a've  been  sairly 
punished.  Gin  a'  hed  been  bred  in  Drumtochty,  a' 
micht  never  hae  been  a  by-word,  but  a'  thank  God 
that  ma  laist  years  'ill  be  spent  amang  true  men, 
an',  Drumsheugh,  a'm  prayin'  that  afore  a'  dee  a' 
also  may  be  .  .  .  a  richt  man." 

This  was  how  Drumsheugh  found  Milton  walking 
in  crooked  paths  and  brought  him  into  the  way  of 
righteousness,  and  Milton  carried  himself  so  well 
afterwards  that  Drumsheugh  had  only  one  regret, 
and  that  was  that  Jamie  Soutar  had  not  lived  to  see 
that  even  in  Milton  there  was  the  making  of  a  man. 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


22 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


Peter  Bruce  was  puzzled  by  a  passenger  who  trav- 
elled from  the  Junction  on  a  late  October  day,  and 
spoke  with  a  mixed  accent.  He  would  not  be  more 
than  forty  years  of  age,  but  his  hair  was  grey,  and 
his  face  bore  the  marks  of  unchangeable  sorrow. 
Although  he  was  not  a  working  man,  his  clothes 
were  brushed  to  the  bone,  and  his  bag  could  not 
contain  many  luxuries.  There  was  not  any  doubt 
about  his  class,  yet  he  did  not  seem  willing  to  enter 
the  third,  but  wandered  up  and  down  the  train,  as  if 
looking  for  a  lost  carriage.  As  he  passed  beyond 
the  van  he  appeared  to  have  found  what  he  was  seek- 
ing, and  Peter  came  upon  him  examining  the  old 
Kildrummie  third,  wherein  Jamie  Soutar  had  so 
often  held  forth,  and  which  was  now  planted  dowm 
on  the  side  of  the  line  as  a  storehouse  for  tools  and 
lamps.  The  stranger  walked  round  the  forlorn 
remains  and  peered  in  at  a  window,  as  if  to  see  the 
place  where  he  or  some  one  else  he  knew  had  sat. 

"Ye  ken  the  auld  third,"  said  Peter,  anxious  to 
give  a  lead;  "it's  been  aff  the  rails  for  mair  than 
twal  years;  it  gies  me  a  turn  at  times  tae  see  it 


34Q  OOR  LANG  HAME 


sittin'  there  like  a  freend  that 's  fa'en  back  in  the 
warld. " 

As  the  stranger  gave  no  sign,  Peter  attached  him- 
self to  his  door  —  under  pretext  of  collecting  the 
tickets  —  and  dealt  skilfully  with  the  mystery.  He 
went  over  the  improvements  in  Kildrummie,  enlarg- 
ing on  the  new  U.  P.  kirk  and  the  extension  of  the 
Gasworks.  When  these  stirring  tales  produced  no 
effect,  the  conclusion  was  plain. 

"  It 's  a  fell  step  tae  Drumtochty,  an'  ye  '11  be  the 
better  o'  the  dogcairt.  Sandie 's  still  tae  the  fore, 
though  he 's  failin'  like 's  a' ;  wull  a'  tell  the  engine 
driver  tae  whustle  for't?" 

"No,  I'll  walk  .  .  .  better  folk  than  I  have 
tramped  that  road  .  .  .  with  loads,  too."  And 
then,  as  he  left  the  station,  the  unknown  said,  as  if 
recollecting  his  native  tongue,  "  Gude  day,  Peter; 
it  is  a  comfort  tae  see  ae  kent  face  aifter  mony 
changes. " 

Something  hindered  the  question  on  Peter's  lips, 
but  he  watched  the  slender  figure  —  which  seemed 
bent  with  an  invisible  burden  —  till  it  disappeared, 
and  then  the  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"  It  beats  me  tae  pit  a  name  on  him,  an'  he  didna 
want  tae  be  askit ;  but  whaever  he  may  be,  he  's  sair 
stricken.  Yon 's  the  saddest  face  'at  hes  come  up 
frae  the  Junction  sin  a'  hoddit  Flora  Campbell  in 
the  second.  An'  a'm  judgin'  he  'ill  be  waur  tae 
comfort. " 

The  road  to  Drumtochty,  after  it  had  thrown  off 
Kildrummie,  climbed  a  hill,  and  passed  through  an 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


34i 


open  country  till  it  plunged  into  the  pine-woods. 
The  wind  was  fresh,  blowing  down  from  the  Gram- 
pians, with  a  suggestion  of  frost,  and  the  ground 
was  firm  underfoot.  The  pungent  scent  of  ripe 
turnips  was  in  the  air,  mingled,  as  one  passed  a 
stackyard,  with  the  smell  of  the  newly  gathered 
grain,  whose  scattered  remains  clung  to  the  hedges. 
As  the  lonely  man  passed  one  homestead,  a  tramp 
was  leaving  the  door,  pursued  with  contempt. 

"Awa'  wi'  ye,  or  a' 11  louse  the  dog,"  an  honest 
woman  was  saying.  "Gin  ye  were  a  puir  helpless 
body  a'd  gie  ye  meat  an'  drink,  but  an  able-bodied 
man  sud  be  ashamed  tae  beg.  Hae  ye  nae  speerit 
that  ye  wud  hang  upon  ither  fouk  for  yir  livin'  ?  " 

The  vagabond  only  bent  his  head  and  went  on  his 
way,  but  so  keen  was  the  housewife's  tongue  that  it 
brought  a  faint  flush  of  shame  to  his  cheek.  As 
soon  as  she  had  gone  in  again,  and  the  two  men 
were  alone  on  the  road,  the  one  with  the  sad  face 
gave  some  silver  to  the  outcast. 

"  Don't  thank  me  —  begin  again  somewhere  .  .  . 
I  was  a  tramp  myself  once,"  and  he  hurried  on  as 
one  haunted  by  the  past. 

His  pace  slackened  as  he  entered  the  pines,  and 
the  kindly  shelter  and  the  sweet  fragrance  seemed  to 
give  him  peace.  In  the  centre  of  the  wood  there 
was  an  open  space,  with  a  pool  and  a  clump  of  gorse. 
He  sat  down  and  rested  his  head  on  his  hands  for  a 
while;  then  he  took  two  letters  out  of  his  pocket 
that  were  almost  worn  away  with  handling,  and  this 
was  the  first  he  read : 


342 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


"Ye  mind  that  the  laist  time  we  met  wes  in 
Drumtochty  kirkyaird,  an'  that  I  said  hard  things 
tae  ye  aboot  yir  laziness  and  yir  conduct  tae  yir 
grandmither.  Weel,  a'm  sorry  for  ma  words  this 
day,  no  that  they  werena  true,  for  ye  ken  they  were, 
but  because  a've  tae  send  waesome  news  tae  ye,  an' 
a'  wush  a  kinder  man  hed  been  the  writer. 


IN   THE  WOOD 


"  Ye  ken  that  yir  sister  Lily  gaed  up  tae  London 
an'  took  a  place.  Weel,  she  hes  served  wi'  sic 
faithfulness  that  she  'ill  no  be  here  tae  welcome  ye 
gin  ye  come  back  again.  A'  happened  tae  be  in 
London  at  the  time,  and  wes  wi'  Lily  when  she 
slippit  awa',  an'  she  bade  me  tell  ye  no  tae  lose  hert, 
for  ae  body  at  least  believed  in  ye,  an'  was  expeck- 
in'  ye  tae  turn  oot  weel. 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


343 


"  A'  wush  that  were  a',  for  it 's  eneuch  for  ye  tae 
bear,  gin  ye  be  a  man  an'  hae  a  memory.  But 
tribbles  aye  rin  in  pairs.  Yir  grandmither  kept 
up  till  the  beerial  wes  ower,  an'  then  she  took  tae 
her  bed  for  a  week.  '  A'll  never  be  up  again,'  she 
said  tae  me,  'an'  a'll  no  be  lang  here.'  We  laid 
her  aside  Lily,  an'  she  sent  the  same  word  tae  ye 
wi'  her  last  breath  :  1  Tell  Chairlie  a'  wes  thinkin' 
aboot  him  till  the  end,  an'  that  a'm  sure  ma  lassie's 
bairn  'ill  come  richt  some  day.' 

"This  letter  'ill  gie  ye  a  sair  hert  for  mony  a  day, 
but  ye  wull  coont  the  sairness  a  blessing  an'  no  an 
ill.  Never  kit  it  slip  frae  yir  mind  that  twa  true 
wecmen  loved  ye  an'  prayed  for  ye  till  the  laist, 
deein'  wi'  yir  name  on  their  lips.  Ye  'ill  be  a  man 
yet,  Chairlie. 

"  Dinna  answer  this  letter  —  answer  yon  fond  herts 
that  luve  an'  pray  for  ye.  Gin  ye  be  ever  in  tribble, 
lat  me  ken.  A'  wes  yir  grandmither's  freend  and 
Lily's  freend;  sae  lang  as  a'm  here,  coont  me  yir 
freend  for  their  sake. 

"James  Soutar  " 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  he  read  the  second 
letter. 

"Dear  Chairlie, — A'm  verra  sober  noo,  an' 
canna  rise;  but  gin  ony  medeecine  cud  hae  cured 
me,  it  wud  hae  been  yir  letter.  A'  thae  years  a've 
been  sure  ye  were  fechtin'  yir  battle,  an'  that  some 
day  news  wud  come  o'  yir  victory. 

"Man,  ye 've  dune  weel  —  a  pairtner,  wi'  a  hoose 


344  OOR  LANG  HAME 


o'  yir  ain,  an'  sic  an  income.  Ye  aye  hed  brains, 
an'  noo  ye 've  turned  them  tae  accoont.  A'  with- 
draw every  word  a'  ca'd  ye,  for  ye  're  an  honour  noo 
tae  Drumtochty.  Gin  they  hed  only  been  spared 
tae  ken  o'  yir  success ! 

"A've  divided  the  money  amang  yir  sisters  in 
Muirtown,  and  Doctor  Davidson  'ill  pit  the  lave 
intae  a  fund  tae  help  puir  laddies  wi'  their  educa- 
tion. Yir  name  'ill  never  appear,  but  a'm  prood  tae 
think  o'  yir  leeberality,  and  mony  will  bless  ye. 
Afore  this  reaches  ye  in  America  a' 11  be  awa',  and 
ithers  roond  me  are  near  their  lang  hame.  Ye  'ill 
maybe  tak  a  thocht  o'  veesiting  the  Glen  some  day, 
but  a'  doot  the  neeburs  that  githered  in  the  kirk- 
yaird  'ill  no  be  here  tae  wush  ye  weel,  as  a'  dae 
this  day.  A'm  glad  a'  lived  tae  get  yir  letter. 
God  be  wi'  ye. 

"James  Soutar. " 

The  letter  dropped  from  his  hand,  and  the  exile 
looked  into  the  far  distance  with  something  between 
a  smile  and  a  tear. 

"They  were  gude  men  'at  githered  ablow  the 
beech-tree  in  the  kirkyaird  on  a  Sabbath  mornin'," 
he  said  aloud,  and  the  new  accent  had  now  lost  itself 
altogether  in  an  older  tongue;  "and  there  wesna  a 
truer  hert  amang  them  a'  than  Jamie.  Gin  he  hed 
been  spared  tae  gie  me  a  shak  o'  his  hand,  a'  wud 
hae  been  comforted;  an'  aifter  him  a'  wud  like  a 
word  frae  Drumsheugh.  A'  wunner  gin  he  be  still 
tae  the  fore. 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


345 


"Na,  na, "  and  his  head  fell  on  his  chest,  "it 's  no 
possible;  o'  a'  the  generation  'at  condemned  me,  no 
ane  'ill  be  leevin'  tae  say  forgiven.  But  a'  cudna 
hae  come  hame  suner  —  till  a'  hed  redeemed  masel. " 

He  caught  the  sound  of  a  cart  from  the  Glen,  and 
a  sudden  fear  overcame  him  at  the  meeting  of  the 
first  Drumtochty  man.  His  first  movement  was  to 
the  shelter  of  the  wood;  then  he  lay  down  behind  the 
gorse  and  watched  the  bend  of  the  road.  It  was  a 
double  cart,  laden  with  potatoes  for  Kildrummie 
station,  and  the  very  horses  had  a  homely  look ; 
while  the  driver  was  singing  in  a  deep,  mellow 
voice,  "Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot."  The 
light  was  on  his  face,  and  the  wanderer  recognised 
him  at  once.  They  had  been  at  school  together,  and 
were  of  the  same  age,  but  there  was  not  a  grey  hair 
in  young  Burnbrae's  beard,  nor  a  line  on  his  face. 

As  the  cart  passed,  Grant  watched  the  tram,  and 
marked  that  the  Christian  name  was  in  fresh  paint. 

"It's  James,  no  John,  noo.  Burnbrae  hesna 
feenished  his  lease,  an'  a'm  thinkin'  Jean  'ill  no 
hae  lasted  long  aifter  him.  He  was  a  gude  man, 
an'  he  hed  gude  sons. 'f 

The  cart  was  a  mile  on  the  road,  and  Burnbrae's 
song  had  long  died  into  silence  among  the  pines, 
before  Grant  rose  from  the  ground  and  went  on  his 
way. 

There  is  a  certain  point  where  the  road  from 
Kildrummie  disentangles  itself  from  the  wood,  and 
begins  the  descent  to  Tochty  bridge.  Drumtochty 
exiles  used  to  stand  there  for  a  space  and  rest  their 


346 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


eyes  on  the  Glen  which  they  could  now  see,  from 
the  hills  that  made  its  western  wall  to  the  woods  of 
Tochty  that  began  below  the  parish  kirk,  and  though 
each  man  might  not  be  able  to  detect  the  old  home, 
he  had  some  landmark  —  a  tree  or  a  rise  of  the  hill 
—  to  distinguish  the  spot  where  he  was  born,  and  if 
such  were  still  his  good  fortune,  where  true  hearts 
were  waiting  to  bid  him  welcome.  Two  Drumtochty 
students  returning  in  the  spring  with  their  honours 
might  talk  of  learned  studies  and  resume  their 
debates  coming  through  the  wood,  but  as  the  trees 
thinned  conversation  languished,  and  then  the  lads 
would  go  over  to  the  stile.  No  man  said  aught 
unto  his  neighbour  as  they  drank  in  the  Glen,  but 
when  they  turned  and  went  down  the  hill,  a  change 
had  come  over  them. 

"Man,  Dauvid, "  Ross  would  say  —  with  three 
medals  to  give  to  his  mother,  who  had  been  all  day 
making  ready  for  his  arrival,  and  was  already  watch- 
ing the  upland  road  —  "far  or  near,  ye  'ill  never  fin' 
a  bonnier  burn  than  the  Tochty;  see  yonder  the 
glisk  o't  through  the  bridge  as  it  whummels  ower 
the  stanes  and  shimmers  in  the  evening  licht." 

"An'  Hillocks' s  haughs, "  cried  Baxter,  who  was 
supposed  to  think  in  Hebrew  and  had  won  a  Fellow- 
ship for  foreign  travel,  "are  green  an'  sweet  the 
nicht,  wi'  the  bank  o'  birks  ahint  them,  an'  a'  saw 
the  hill  abune  yir  hame,  Jock,  an'  it  wes  glistenin' 
like  the  sea. " 

Quite  suddenly,  at  the  sight  of  the  Glen,  and  for 
the  breath  of  it  in  their  lungs,  they  had  become 


OOR  LANG  HAME  347 

Drumtochty  again,  to  the  names  they  had  called 
one  another  in  Domsie's  school,  and  as  they  came  to 
the  bottom  of  the  hill,  they  raced  to  see  who  first 
would  reach  the  crest  of  the  ancient  bridge  that 
might  have  been  Marshal  Wade's  for  its  steepness, 
and  then  were  met  on  the  other  side  by  Hillocks, 


THE  CREST  OF  THE  OLD  BRIDGE 

who  gave  them  joyful  greeting  in  name  of  the 
parish.  But  not  even  Hillocks,  with  all  his  blandish- 
ments, could  wile  them  within  doors  that  evening. 
John  Ross  saw  his  mother  shading  her  eyes  at  the 
garden  gate  and  wearying  for  the  sight  of  his  head 
above  the  hill,  and  already  David  Baxter  seemed  to 
hear  his  father's  voice,  "God  bless  ye,  laddie;  wel- 
come hame,  and  weel  dune."    For  the  choice  reward 


348 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


of  a  true  man's  work  is  not  the  applause  of  the 
street,  which  comes  and  goes,  but  the  pride  of  them 
that  love  him. 

What  might  have  been  so  came  upon  this  emigrant 
as  he  gazed  upon  the  Glen,  that  the  driver  of  the 
Kildrummie  bread  cart,  a  man  quite  below  the  aver- 
age of  Drumtochty  intelligence,  was  struck  by  the 
hopelessness  of  his  attitude,  and  refrained  from  a 


strategic  position  of  such  commanding  power  that 
no  one  had  ever  crossed  that  bridge  without  his  su- 
pervision —  except  on  Friday  when  he  was  in  Muir- 
town  —  and  so  strong  was  the  wayfarer's  longing  for 
some  face  of  the  former  time,  that  he  loitered  oppo- 
site the  barn  door,  in  hopes  that  a  battered  hat, 
dating  from  the  middle  of  the  century  and  utilised 
at  times  for  the  protection  of  potatoes,  might  appear, 
and  a  voice  be  heard,  "  A've  seen  a  waur  day,  ye  'ill 
be  gaein'  up  the  Glen,"  merely  as  a  preliminary  to 


THE  KILDRUMMIE  BREAD  CART 


remark  on  the  comple- 
tion of  harvest  which 
he  had  been  offering 
freely  all  day.  They 
were  threshing  at  Hil- 
locks's  farm  that  day, 
and  across  the  river 
Grant  saw  the  pleas- 
ant bustle  in  the  stack- 
yard and  heard  the 
hum  of  the  mill.  It 
used  to  be  believed 
that  Hillocks  held  a 


WATCHING  FROM  THE  GARDEN  GATE 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


35i 


more  searching  investigation  at  what  was  the  fron- 
tier of  Drumtochty.  Hillocks  also  must  be  dead, 
and  as  for  the  others,  they  were  too  busy  with  their 
work  to  give  any  heed  to  a  stranger.  A  gust  of 
wind  catching  up  the  chaff,  whirled  it  across  the 
yard  and  powdered  his  coat.  The  prodigal  accepted 
the  omen,  and  turned  himself  to  the  hill  that  went 
up  to  Mary's  cottage. 

He  had  planned  to  pass  the  place,  and  then  from 
the  footpath  to  the  kirkyard  to  have  looked  down  on 
the  home  of  his  boyhood,  but  he  need  not  have 
taken  precautions.  No  one  was  there  to  question 
or  recognise  him;  Mary's  little  house  was  empty 
and  forsaken.  The  thatch  had  fallen  in  with  the 
weight  of  winter  snows,  the  garden  gate  was  lying 
on  the  walk,  the  scrap  of  ground  once  so  carefully 
kept  was  overgrown  with  weeds.  Grant  opened  the 
unlatched  door  —  taking  off  his  hat  —  and  stood  in 
the  desolate  kitchen.  He  sat  down  on  the  edge  of 
the  box-bed  no  one  had  thought  it  worth  while  to 
remove,  and  covered  his  face  while  memory  awoke. 
The  fire  again  burned  on  the  hearth,  and  was 
reflected  from  the  dishes  on  the  opposite  wall;  the 
table  was  spread  for  supper,  and  he  saw  his  wooden 
bicker  with  the  black  horn  spoon  beside  it;  Mary 
sat  in  her  deep  old  armchair,  and  stirred  the  porridge 
sputtering  in  the  pot ;  a  rosy-cheeked  laddie  curled 
in  a  heap  at  his  grandmother's  feet  saw  great 
marvels  in  the  magic  firelight. 

"  Get  up,  Chairlie,  an'  we  'ill  tak  oor  supper,  an' 
then  ye  'ill  feenish  yir  lessons.     Domsie  says  ye 


352 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


hae  the  makin'  o'  a  scholar,  gin  ye  work  hard 
eneuch,  an'  a'  ken  ye  'ill  dae  that  for  yir  auld 
grannie's  sake  an'  yir  puir  mither's,  wunna  ye,  ma 
mannie?"  but  when  her  hand  fell  on  his  head,  he 
rose  suddenly  and  made  for  the  other  room,  the 
"ben"  of  this  humble  home. 


BY  THE  FIRESIDE 


A  little  bit  of  carpet  on  the  floor;  four  horsehair 
chairs,  one  with  David  and  Goliath  in  crochet-work 
on  its  back ;  a  brass  fender  that  had  often  revealed 
to  Mary  the  secret  pride  of  the  human  heart;  shells 
on  the  mantelpiece  in  which  an  inland  laddie  could 
hear  the  roar  of  the  sea,  with  peacock's  feathers 
also,  and  a  spotted  china  dog  which  was  an  almost 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


353 


speaking  likeness  of  the  minister  of  Kildrummie;  a 
mahogany  chest  of  drawers  —  the  chairs  were  only 
birch,  but  we  can  t  have  everything  in  this  world 
—  whereon  lay  the  Family  Bible  and  the  Pilgrim 's 
Progress  and  Rutherford 's  Letters,  besides  a  box 
with  views  of  the  London  Exhibition  that  were  an 
endless  joy.  This  was  what  rose  before  his  eyes, 
in  that  empty  place.  Within  the  drawers  were  kept 
the  Sabbath  clothes,  and  in  this  room  a  laddie  was 
dressed  for  kirk,  after  a  searching  and  remorseless 
scrubbing  in  the  "but,"  and  here  he  must  sit 
motionless  till  it  was  time  to  start,  while  Mary, 
giving  last  touches  to  the  fire  and  herself,  main- 
tained a  running  exhortation,  "  Gin  ye  brak  that 
collar  or  rumple  yir  hair,  peety  ye,  the  'ill  be  nae 
peppermint-drop  for  you  in  the  sermon  the  day." 
Here  also  an  old  woman  whose  hands  were  hard  with 
work  opened  a  secret  place  in  those  drawers,  and 
gave  a  young  man  whose  hands  were  white  her  last 
penny. 

"Ye  'ill  be  carefu',  Chairlie,  an'  a'll  try  tae 
send  ye  somethin'  till  ye  can  dae  for  yirsel,  an', 
laddie,  dinna  forget  .  .  .  yir  Bible  nor  yir  hame, 
for  we  expect  ye  tae  be  a  credit  tae 's  a'."  Have 
mercy,  O  God ! 

Within  and  without  it  was  one  desolation  —  full  of 
bitter  memories  and  silent  reproaches  —  save  in  one 
corner,  where  a  hardy  rose-tree  had  held  its  own, 
and  had  opened  the  last  flower  of  the  year.  With  a 
tender,  thankful  heart,  the  repentant  prodigal  plucked 
its  whiteness,  and  wrapped  it  in  Jamie's  letters. 

23 


354 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


Our  kirkyard  was  on  a  height  facing  the  south, 
with  the  massy  Tochty  woods  on  one  side  and  the 
manse  on  the  other,  while  down  below  —  a  meadow 
between  —  the  river  ran,  so  that  its  sound  could  just 
be  heard  in  clear  weather.  From  its  vantage  one 
could  see  the  Ochils  as  well  as  one  of  the  Lomonds, 
and  was  only  cut  off  from  the  Sid  laws  by  Tochty 
woods.  It  was  not  well  kept,  after  the  town's 
fashion,  having  no  walk,  save  the  broad  track  to  the 
kirk  door  and  a  narrower  one  to  the  manse  garden ; 
no  cypresses  or  weeping  willows  or  beds  of  flowers 
—  only  four  or  five  big  trees  had  flung  their  kindly 
shadow  for  generations  over  the  place  where  the 
fathers  of  the  Glen  took  their  long  rest;  no  urns, 
obelisks,  broken  columns,  and  such-like  pagan  monu- 
ments, but  grey,  worn  stones,  some  lying  flat,  some 
standing  on  end,  with  a  name  and  date,  and  two 
crosses,  one  to  George  Howe,  the  Glen's  lost 
scholar,  and  the  other  to  William  Maclure,  who  had 
loved  the  Glen  even  unto  death.  There  was  also  a 
marble  tablet  let  into  the  eastern  wall  of  the  church, 
where  the  first  ray  of  the  sun  fell, 

Sacred  to  the  Memory  of 
Rev.  Alexander  Davidson,  D.D., 

FOR  FIFTY  YEARS 
THE  FAITHFUL  MINISTER  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

Beside  the  beech-tree  where  the  fathers  used  to 
stand  were  two  stones.  The  newer  had  on  it  simply 
"Lachlan  Campbell,"  for  it  was  Lachlan's  wish  that 
he  should  be  buried  with  Drumtochty.    "  They  are 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


355 


good  people,  Flora,"  he  said  the  day  he  died,  "and 
they  dealt  kindly  by  us  in  the  time  of  our  trouble." 
But  the  older  was  covered  with  names,  and  these 
were  the  last,  which  filled  up  the  space  and  left  no 
space  for  another : 

Lily  Grant,  aged  23, 
a  servant  lass. 
Mary  Robertson,  aged  75. 

Charlie  knelt  on  the  turf  before  the  stone,  and, 
taking  off  his  hat,  prayed  God  his  sins  might  be 
forgiven,  and  that  one  day  he  might  meet  the  trust- 
ing hearts  that  had  not  despaired  of  his  return. 

He  rose  uncomforted,  however,  and  stood  beneath 
the  beech,  where  Jamie  Soutar  had  once  lashed  him 
for  his  unmanliness.  Looking  down,  he  saw  the 
fields  swept  clean  of  grain ;  he  heard  the  sad  murmur 
of  the  water,  that  laughed  at  the  shortness  of  life ; 
withered  leaves  fell  at  his  feet,  and  the  October  sun 
faded  from  the  kirkyard.  A  chill  struck  to  his 
heart,  because  there  was  none  to  receive  his  repent- 
ance, none  to  stretch  out  to  him  a  human  hand,  and 
bid  him  go  in  peace. 

He  was  minded  to  creep  away  softly  and  leave 
Drumtochty  for  ever  —  his  heart  full  of  a  vain  regret 
—  when  he  found  there  was  another  mourner  in  the 
kirkyard.  An  old  man  was  carefully  cleaning  the 
letters  of  Maclure's  name,  and  he  heard  him  saying 
aloud : 

"It  disna  maitter  though,  for  he's  in  oor  herts 
an'  canna  be  forgotten.    Ye  've  hed  a  gude  sleep, 


356  OOR  LANG  HAME 


Weelum,  an'  sair  ye  needed  it.  Some  o's  'ill  no 
be  lang  o'  followin'  ye  noo. " 

Then  he  went  over  to  Geordie's  grave  and  read  a 
fresh  inscription : 

Margaret  Howe,  his  mother. 

"They're  thegither  noo,"  he  said  softly,  "an' 

content.  O  Mar- 
get,  Marget,"  and 
the  voice  was  full 
of  tears,  "there 
wes  nane  like  ye. " 

As  he  turned  to 
go,  the  two  men 
met,  and  Grant 
recognised  Drums- 
heugh. 

"  Gude  nicht, 
Drumsheugh,"  he 
said;  "a'  ken  yir 
face,  though  ye  hae 
forgotten  mine, an' 
nae  doot  it 's  sair 
chairlie  in  the  kirkyard        changed    wi'  sin 

and  sorrow." 
"Are  ye  Drumtochty?"  and  Drumsheugh  exam- 
ined Charlie  closely;  "there  wes  a  day  when  a'  cud 
hae  pit  his  name  on  every  man  that  cam  oot  o'  the 
Glen  in  ma  time,  but  ma  een  are  no  what  they  were, 
an'  a'm  failin'  fast  masel." 

"Ay,  a'  wes  born  an'  bred  in  Drumtochty,  though 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


357 


the  pairish  micht  weel  be  ashamed  o'  ma  name.  A' 
cam  tae  visit  ma  dead,  an'  a'm  gaein'  awa  for  gude. 
Naebody  hes  seen  me  but  yersel,  an'  a' 11  no  deny 
a'm  pleased  tae  get  a  sicht  o'  yir  face." 

"Ye 're  no,"  and  then  Drumsheugh  held  out  his 
hand,  "  Chairlie  Grant.  Man,  a'm  gled  a'  cam  intae 
the  kirkyaird  this  day,  and  wes  here  tae  meet  ye. 
A'  bid  ye  welcome  for  the  Glen  and  them  'at  's 
gane." 

"A'm  no  worthy,  Drumsheugh,  either  o'  them 
'at  's  livin'  or  them  'at  's  dead,  but  Gude  kens  a've 
repentit,  an'  the  grip  o'  an  honest  hand,  an'  maist  o' 
a'  yir  ain,  'ill  gie  me  hert  for  the  clays  tae  come." 

"Nane  o's  is  worthy  o'  some  of  them  'at  's  lyin' 
here,  Chairlie,  naither  you  nor  me,  but  it  's  no  them 
'at  will  be  hardest  on  oor  fauts.  Na,  na,  they  ken 
an'  luvc  ower  muckle,  an'  a'm  houpin'  that's  sae 
.  .  .  wi'  the  Almichty. 

"Man,  Chairlie,  it  did  me  gude  tae  hear  that  ye 
hed  played  the  man  in  Ameriky,  and  that  ye  didna 
forget  the  puir  laddies  o'  Drumtochty.  Ay,  Jamie 
telt  me  afore  he  deed,  an'  prood  he  wes  aboot  ye. 
'Lily's  gotten  her  wish,'  he  said;  'a'  kent  she 
wud. ' 

"  He  wes  sure  ye  wud  veesit  the  auld  Glen  some 
day,  an'  wes  feared  there  wudna  be  a  freend  tae  gie 
ye  a  word.  Ye  wes  tae  slip  awa'  tae  Muirtown  the 
nicht  withoot  a  word,  an'  nane  o's  tae  ken  ye  hed 
been  here?  Na,  na,  gin  there  be  a  cauld  hearth  in 
yir  auld  hame,  there's  a  warm  corner  in  ma  hoose 
for  Lily's  brither,"  and  so  they  went  home  together. 


358 


OOR  LANG  HAME 


When  they  arrived,  Saunders  was  finishing  the 
last  stack,  and  broke  suddenly  into  speech. 

"Ye  thocht,  Drumsheugh,  we  would  never  get 
that  late  puckle  in,  but  here  it  is,  safe  and  soond, 
an'  a' 11  warrant  it  'ill  buke  (bulk)  as  weel  as  ony 
in  the  threshin'." 

"Ye're  richt,  Saunders,  and  a  bonnie  stack  it 
maks;"  and  then  Charlie  Grant  went  in  with 
Drumsheugh  to  the  warmth  and  the  kindly  light, 
while  the  darkness  fell  upon  the  empty  harvest  field, 
from  which  the  last  sheaf  had  been  safely  garnered. 


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